The Nature of the Thing
by LadyNyxRavus
Summary: Harry ignores the slight discomfort of his dæmon being on the other side of the playground and Tahmryis wanders a bit further away until the discomfort becomes a stretch and Harry winces. "Tam?" - "Just a bit more," Tahmryis says.
1. Hagrid

**AN: If anyone reading this is also reading my fable fic, there's been a change in the update schedule I was loosely following. I'll update roughly once a week or so but the update will be to either this new fic here _or _the fable one. Not both. Just one and maybe one twice in a row or more or maybe alternating. It depends on which one I've got a chapter done. **

**Some ideas and such inspired by blind author's fic "The Republic of Heaven" which is over in the Sherlock tv section but is actually a crossover with HDM. You should all go read it if you haven't because it's really _very_ good. **

**Standard disclaimers as to the correct ownership of all materials apply. Please do review. Thanks! **

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**Hagrid**

The first time Hagrid sees Harry Potter after leaving him at the Dursleys, all he can think is _oh dear_.

Because Harry Potter is blinking up at him with wide green eyes and an albino coral snake wound around his throat – its tongue flicking out towards Hagrid and his boarhound dæmon, Fang, with a warning hiss. "Hullo there, 'Arry," Hagrid greets with most of his anxiety masked. Colour variations in dæmons are _rare_. He isn't unfamiliar with snake dæmons but he sincerely hopes that the one around the Boy-Who-Lived's neck isn't the poisonous version – the poor boy clearly doesn't need to be differentiated any more than he is already. "

"Hello," Harry Potter replies warily but in a friendly tone. The dæmon round his neck whispers something in his ear and the boy looks at Fang and adds a very polite, "hello to you as well."

Fang sneezes in bewilderment. It's unusual for people to directly speak to another person's dæmon – some would even call it rude. Still, Fang is more used to than most dæmons the concept of being treated differently (only a fraction of the population have dæmons the same sex as themselves, after all) and so he wags his tail and lowers his head more to the boy's height. "Wotcher, Harry Potter."

"Who are you?" Harry asks curiously. The Dursleys are huddled together with their dæmons in the back – terrified of the giant man and his massive dæmon. Vernon has a black vulture and she's staring at Harry in a way that sets Hagrid on edge. Fang growls at them and they shrink back fearfully. The woman (was her name Petunia?) has a spotted looking cat and it's curled around her shoulders with a lashing tail – all his fur raised and teeth bared at Fang's growl. The boy Hagrid had delighted in giving a pig's tail has his dæmon in the form of a mouse – cowering under his fat chins and shrieking in a high pitched voice to get them _away_.

Harry follows his eyesight and smiles just faintly. His dæmon stretches and becomes a polecat – still albino – and arches in what looks like a delighted sort of movement. "They're so _scared_," it whispers and Hagrid's eyebrows shoot upwards dangerously high. Harry's dæmon is a _male_.

Fang stops growling to peer at the boy's dæmon curiously. He extends his nose to sniff and greet the other but the polecat spits suddenly and hides behind Harry's head, peeking out from behind scruffy black hair and refusing to move. Harry looks apologetic. "We don't like to be touched," he explains to Fang and again Hagrid is unnerved by the attention paid to his dæmon.

"Alright," Fang says. "What's his name?"

"Tahmryis," Harry says – pronouncing it _tahm_-ree-us. He looks up at Hagrid again. "Who are you?" he repeats.

"I'm Hagrid and this is Fang," he says. Then he explains about Hogwarts and about being Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Dumbledore, magic and wizards.

Harry looks doubtful and says his parents were in a car crash so he must have the wrong boy. Tahmryis is still a polecat on his shoulder and is apparently completely uninterested in both Hagrid _and_ Fang now that introductions are out of the way. Hagrid worries about that and Fang looks particularly upset but mostly they're angry at the Dursleys for their deceit.

They explain again and Harry's face becomes smooth rather than doubtful. Tahmryis whispers into his ear and becomes a snowy owl, turning his head almost all the way around and then back again, whispering once more and then returning to ignoring the world around his boy. "Alright," Harry says cheerfully, "let's go."

**end**


	2. McGonagall

**AN: Because I'm not so completely heartless as to leave such a short first chapter alone without at least adding a second. **

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**McGonagall**

Hagrid seems unnerved when he firecalls Hogwarts after collecting Harry Potter. He has to run an errand for Dumbledore and he needs a few things that, strictly speaking, he doesn't want to get if he's got a small boy with him. Minerva McGonagall smiles and assures the gamekeeper that they're perfectly capable of escorting the boy and his dæmon for the afternoon.

She comes through with her dæmon – black-spotted silver ocicat – Julius and they are introduced rather quickly to Harry Potter and Tahmryis.

"That's a pretty name," she says to Harry.

"He's a boy," he replies simply. She blinks a little in surprise – no one had told her _that_ and no one really noticed either way when the boy was young and his dæmon took only very small forms – but recovers quickly. Until she looks down and sees the boy's dæmon properly.

Tahmryis is what appears to be an albino bobcat but with a far longer tail than it should be –almost a normal length for a housecat – and oddly tufted ears. Julius blinks slowly, tense on her shoulders and says, "He's a _hybrid_."

"Bobcat and lynx," Harry confirms in response which makes her widen her eyes. Hagrid smiles nervously at her and vanishes down the Alley – leaving her with Harry and his very _odd_ dæmon and the complete disregard for the usual social conventions of talking around others' dæmons.

"He's lovely," she says instead of '_why?_' and leads him into the Alley.

Harry is nothing if not polite to the people they meet. Witches and Wizards aren't like the Witches that the Muggles know about. Those Witches are an autonomous nation – formed ages ago because breeding with elves (before they retreated to their own realm completely) had warped the way they worked magic. The magical community called them Mages rather than Witches and the Mages respected the decision to remain hidden from the rest of the world.

The real problem is not how the Mages came to be. It is the way they seem to have no issues performing Separations with their dæmons the moment they settle. Witches and Wizards, on the other hand, tend to have very short ranges while Muggles have a range somewhere in the middle. Purebloods use that as proof that Muggles are lesser beings because of their ability to separate a greater distance and ignore the Mages complete Separation as an abomination because of their breeding.

So, Harry seems polite in not getting between a person and their dæmon and his dæmon follows at his heels completely ignoring everything but his wizard. Until a small group of people become pushy in touching him and then Tahmryis yowls loudly and actually bites one of the dogs sniffing curiously at them. The dæmon and his person yell loudly and the way rapidly clears. Tahmryis looks disdainfully at the crowd and turns to Harry and Minerva.

Harry smiles at his dæmon and pats him just once on the top of his head. Tahmryis turns and enters Madame Malkins and Minerva moves to hurry along before the tug causes Harry any discomfort but the boy seems completely unaffected. When they enter she can see the lynxcat all the way across the shop – a distance she and Julius could _never_ manage – and Harry looking completely comfortable.

"Have you always been able to go so far?" she asks worriedly. Harry blinks at her and smiles reassuringly.

"We're fine. He could go farther if he wanted but he's more likely to encounter other dæmons and we don't like being touched so he usually stays pretty close."

She watches the two interact while he's measured for robes. True to his word, Tahmryis sits nearby but well away from Madam Malkin's mink dæmon – seemingly ignoring the world but for a warning lash of his tail whenever the mink looks curiously at him.

Minerva goes to buy him a present (Hagrid had mentioned during his firecall that the boy had said something about never getting a present before). She figures an owl is the most practical gift and purchases a calm looking snowy owl capable of long flights or even moderately sized packages.

When she returns to the shop, a miniature copy of Lucius Malfoy is being fitted and his dæmon is in the form of a pretty white swan. Harry is staring at the boy as though he's a puzzle and glances up when Julius calls a greeting.

"Hello Professor McGonagall and Julius," he says. "Draco, Svenia, this is our Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. Professor, this is Draco Malfoy and Svenia."

"Pleasure to meet you Professor," Draco recites cordially. Minerva can see he doesn't mean it though – he's likely heard she's the head of Gryffindor and he's been groomed to be in Slytherin since before he could walk. She smiles thinly at him and returns the greeting nonetheless.

Harry's got his head cocked as though something fascinating is playing out before him. Tahmryis turns into an albino polecat and climbs up Harry's shoulder to murmur something to him. Harry grins a little and turns to Draco. "I hope we end up in the same house," he says cheerfully, and Minerva's heart freezes and Julius hisses softly, "it would be nice to know someone there already."

Draco Malfoy's dæmon preens at the praise and stretches out her neck politely to greet Harry's dæmon. Tahmryis doesn't even look at her, choosing instead to fastidiously groom his fur. Draco looks disgruntled but promises to see Harry on the train.

Minerva is still unnerved when she sees Harry turn to her while Tahmryis watches the other boy retreat and mutters things she and Julius cannot hear to Harry. She presents the owl to him and he smiles brilliantly at her. "Thank you Professor!"

"What will you name her?" Tahmryis asks. Harry pets her through the bars and Tahmryis clutches at his collar. "Hedwig is nice," he says eventually in the same tone one would use to say 'the sky is blue' or 'it's raining' or 'I have shoes on.'

"Hullo Hedwig," Harry greets the owl in the same tone and Minerva and Julius cannot _wait_ to demand an explanation from Dumbledore as to why the Boy-Who-Lived has been raised to have a dæmon that becomes _hybrids_ and _albinos_ rather than anything normal like a boy raised in a healthy family environment.

**end**


	3. Harry

**AN: I'm really having quite a bit of fun with this. My sister is excited because she gets to read all the chapters before they're posted and she's rather helpful in working through interactions and picking out dæmons and such. **

**Please do review; I've been seeing a lot of alerts and favourites but hardly any reviews. I really would appreciate some - even if they're just a few words long. **

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**Harry**

Harry had always been aware that he was different from most children. Tahmryis is a boy, after all, and that disturbs the Dursleys who have ridiculous notions that if your dæmon is the same gender it means you've got a mental problem.

They call him a freak and he sleeps in the cupboard under the stairs. He doesn't mind though – the Dursleys all snore and Tahmryis can take any number of shapes in the cupboard where the Dursleys won't notice the strange choices and scold him for it.

"Is there something wrong with us Tam?" he asks Tahmryis one day. His dæmon is an albino red fox and he looks up with pink eyes at Harry perched on the playground curiously. "We're always…" he gestures vaguely and Tahmryis understands immediately.

"We're perfect," Tahmryis says. "Nevermind them."

"You're always a weird shape or albino though," Harry points out.

Tahmryis looks amused and settles back on his haunches delicately. "We're special. Like that time with the teacher lady's hair or when fatty and his friends chased us to the roof. We _do_ things."

Harry remembers the teacher's hair turning blue and the abrupt vanish and appearance on the locked school roof from his cousin and his friends. Tahmryis seems satisfied and becomes a squirrel monkey – still albino – and climbs up to sit beside Harry. He pets his hair and Harry is reassured with the touch. "Thanks Tam," he murmurs and his dæmon chitters before sitting a little ways away and staring around the park absently.

When the letters start coming and owls begin stalking them, Harry and Tahmryis are curious. Eventually they cannot endure another day of not knowing and Tahmryis is a beautiful white gyrfalcon with black lining the edges of his wings in perfect stripes and he drops down on an unsuspecting barn owl to steal the letter in its claws.

Harry ignores the slight discomfort of his dæmon being on the other side of the playground and Tahmryis wanders a bit further away until the discomfort becomes a stretch and Harry winces. "Tam?"

"Just a bit more," Tahmryis says. The discomfort becomes tolerable after they sit like that for an hour in perfect silence, just staring at each other. Then there's the nearly imperceptible _change_ that means they've extended their range by at least another metre. Tahmryis becomes the albino polecat again and flows back toward Harry – climbing up to his shoulder to peer down at the unopened letter. "Parchment," he observes curiously.

"It's heavy," Harry agrees. They open it and read the invitation to Hogwarts and they memorize the list of required items and are puzzled by the form identical to the one they got in primary school for when your dæmon settles.

"Maybe our mother was a Witch?" Tahmryis suggests.

"I don't think so – not the sort with cloud pine at least. This says something about wands and Witches don't use wands."

"Puzzle," says Tahmryis in delight as he grooms his whiskers rapidly.

When Hagrid bursts through the door of the little shack on the coast that the Dursleys retreat to, Tahmryis becomes a snake with red, yellow and white stripes. He hisses at the newcomers warningly but they're too busy scaring the Dursleys. "I'm poisonous," Tahmryis murmurs reassuringly and Harry relaxes enough to properly inspect their new guests.

Hagrid is unnerved by revelations that Tahmryis is a boy and then when Harry addresses his dæmon, Fang, and Tahmryis mutters that it's obvious that rules about dæmons still apply to these new magic users as they do to people like the Dursleys. Harry is mildly disappointed but agrees cheerfully to go with Hagrid to do his school shopping.

When Hagrid excuses himself to make a 'firecall' Harry turns to Tahmryis who is a polecat once more. "We aren't that," he says to his dæmon.

"I know," Tahmryis says. "It's just convenient – here…" he becomes a bobcat and then gets bigger, letting his tail grow longer and tufts of fur sprout near his ears. Then the familiar albino colouring sweeps over his body and he jumps up on a stool to be level with Harry's face. "Better?"

Harry is pleased and passes a hand along his dæmon's back. "Mix?" he asks.

"Bobcat and lynx," Tahmryis preens. "We saw them in a book once."

"Longer tail though," Harry points out. He gets the distinct impression that Tahmryis is shrugging at him and laughs a little. "Should be fine," he agrees.

McGonagall has a cat dæmon which makes Tahmryis glance at him in amusement before his dæmon returns to his usual habit of ignoring new people. Minerva is surprised that Harry has a boy dæmon but recovers well. They go shopping and he surprises her again, he knows, when Tahmryis wanders to the back of the small store (it's only about four metres long and they can separate at least six after their recent stretch).

"They can't go more than a metre or perhaps two, on average," Tahmryis murmurs into his ear while watching Draco and Svenia leave the shop. "Curious."

Harry wonders if these wizards ever bothered to try stretching. Then he remembers that stretching is something like the initial stages of Separation and that Tahmryis and he are _special_ – more than just the magic, even – and so smiles vaguely instead.

The Dursleys avoid him after that. Even Dudley's Buddy (and what sort of completely unimaginative name is _Buddy _for a dæmon?) refuses to change into any forms larger than Tahmryis' form of the day.

Aunt Petunia's California spangled cat dæmon, Solanis, peers at them disapprovingly from his usual spot in the front window where he sits with Petunia to spy on the neighbours. Vernon's Cora (a black vulture) hisses and grunts noisily to her human, shuffling her wings restlessly, to announce Harry's presence in a room. She even dives at them to drive them away while Vernon scowls and turns purple at the slightest bit of anger.

"Come on, Tam," Harry says finally, "we're going to the park." Which means they're going to go continue acclimating themselves to their new range which – while possible without pain – still feels odd.

"I wonder if wizards settle later, since they live longer," Harry muses as Tahmryis trots around the edge of the playground and at the edge of their new range as a pure black andalusian stallion. Harry knows that black is an accepted but unusual colour for the breed and knows that is precisely why Tahmryis chose the colour. He also knows that dæmons don't usually take forms larger than their humans but supposes that it's a silly rule anyway and they are hardly going to follow it just because someone _says_ they should.

"Maybe," his dæmon says as he starts a high-stepping trot that digs up tuffs of grass and dirt messily. "I don't want to settle yet, do you?"

"Not at all," Harry assures him. Tahmryis floats over smoothly and Harry reaches out to brush his hand along his side before his dæmon returns to trotting in his previous path. They're content and waiting patiently for September 1st and Hogwarts.

**end.**


	4. Hermione

**AN: Someone asked me for an explanation of His Dark Materials. I'd thought up several different responses ranging from pithy to polite but decided against all of them. The best answer I have is to go read the wikipedia article or watch the movie The Golden Compass (based on the first book of the series). **

**For the sake of this story, just know that a dæmon is your soul living outside your body. Around puberty it settles into a single form but before that it can change all the time. It's usually the opposite sex but it CAN be the same; it's just not the norm. There's a limited distance that varies between people as to how far away it can go from you before you feel pain, discomfort, and an overwhelming need to return to your ****dæmon**'s side. 

**That's all I'm going to say on the matter. I don't mean to be...well, _mean_ but I don't see why you'd read a crossover fic if you don't know one entire half of the crossover. It's not like this is a large section to begin with so it'd have to be a deliberate decision to read this at all. I know I've given an explanation before in another fic but that was written a _long_ time ago and crossovers didn't actually _exist_ in real, properly dedicated sections then. **

**Anyway, reviews are appreciated and enjoy the new chapter. **

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**Hermione**

Hermione Granger's dæmon has always chosen small, unnoticeable forms. It makes people uncomfortable when they cannot immediately see Kavieke but she likes to be left alone so doesn't mind. After finding out about being a witch – and _not_ the sort that flew around on cloud pines, lived in the North, and Separated from their dæmons – he'd started to experiment with more exotic forms. Still small but more unusual than a field mouse or a ferret or a moth (like he'd been for a week before their introduction to this new world).

He's a pygmy jerboa today, all golden hair and a pretty white underbelly, and he grooms his whiskers on her shoulder as they try to find a compartment.

"Hi," a pudgy boy says softly to her. She blinks and brushes her hair out of her face, glancing around nervously, before she realizes he's talking to her. "I'm Neville," he says.

"Hermione Granger," she replies. "This is Kavieke." Her dæmon obligingly peeks out from her hair and squeaks a hello.

The boy, Neville, blushes and pulls a string around his neck forward so that she can see the little capsule spelled to be unbreakable where his dæmon is residing. Muggles do the same thing for their smaller dæmons, but they're made of bullet-proof material instead of spelled. "This is Evyra," he pronounces it ev-_ear-_a and lets her see the little bee buzzing inside. "She's a bumblebee queen."

"She's settled?"

He blushes some more. "Er – no." Hermione blinks in surprise because he's carrying her around like she has settled. "It's just…she likes small forms; little bugs that can go round the garden. She always tells me to let her out if she's going to get much bigger," he assures Hermione quickly.

"Kavieke likes little forms too," she says softly. Her dæmon noses at her cheek and she smiles shyly. "Want to find a compartment together?"

Neville agrees and they start wandering through the cars until they come upon a compartment with just one occupant.

It's a small boy with wild black hair, green eyes, and round spectacles. He looks up as they enter and his dæmon remains curled in a ball of white fur. "Hello," Hermione says and steps hesitantly inside. "May we join you?"

He nods silently and watches them enter. His dæmon huffs and gets up, glances at Neville and Hermione once, then turns to her human. She's a raccoon, Hermione thinks, or something that looks an awful lot like a racoon only mixed with a fox because she doesn't have opposable thumbs that Hermione and Kavieke can see.

Then the boy's dæmon speaks and Hermione is startled to realize that his dæmon is a _boy_ and not a girl. "Jerboa and bumblebee," his dæmon says. Hermione realizes that he's an albino…whatever-he-is, when she catches sight of the cream-coloured face mask and bright pink eyes.

"What are your names?" the boy asks politely – seeming to not listening to his dæmon.

"Hermione and Neville," she introduces the two of them and waits for him.

"I'm Harry," he says, and then his gaze moves away from her face and to her shoulder and her dæmon. "Who are you?"

Kavieke is startled and shuffles nervously.

"Well?" Harry asks again, a hint of impatience in his voice now.

"Kavieke," says her dæmon finally.

He turns expectantly to Neville and the boy is flushed and uncomfortable. "Her name is Evyra."

"This is Tahmryis," he gestures to his dæmon and it ignores them completely. "We're waiting for another boy to return, if you don't mind," he adds absently, turning to peer out the window. "His name is Draco Malfoy and his dæmon is Svenia."

"Why are there _mudbloods_ in the compartment, Harry?" asks a blonde standing in the door with a disturbed expression and his dæmon a sleek russet ermine on his shoulder. Neville jumps and cringes which makes Hermione think that the word 'mudblood' is a bit not good.

Harry blinks slowly and shrugs. "They asked. Is it a problem?" he sounds curious but the three other children can see is his dæmon uncoiling from a relaxed ball and turning to stare at them. He's changed from the raccoon thing into a wolf – pure white with golden eyes – and the edge of his lip is curled back to show the tips of very sharp canines. He's silent but they can all see the threat in that stance despite the polite smile sitting on Harry's lips.

Draco is unnerved enough that he tempers his disgust into a conciliatory expression. "Not at all; who you make your acquaintance with is entirely up to you."

"We don't have to _like_ it though," Svenia mutters softly and spots of pink rise on Draco's cheeks but he doesn't comment.

Harry smiles vaguely and his dæmon returns to the albino raccoon thing. "Draco and Svenia," he begins instead, as though nothing had happened between their entrance and this moment now, "this is Hermione and Kavieke, and Neville and Evyra. Likewise, this is Draco Malfoy and Svenia."

"Pleasure," Hermione, Neville, and Draco chorus in unison. Hermione takes out a book and the four of them spend the rest of the ride to Hogwarts in an awkward sort of silence. They speak to their dæmons, of course, and they try to make polite conversation about the Houses and which they think they'll be in, but Harry is perfectly content to stare out the window. His dæmon is curled beside him, between he and the window, and they seem comfortable just sitting there without touching.

Hermione keeps brushing her hand along Kavieke or turning her head so he presses against her cheek. Even Neville keeps opening the case around his neck to whisper to Evyra. Draco hasn't gone more than a few moments before he touches his dæmon.

But Harry just sits there and Tahmryis doesn't move from what appears to be a nap. They don't speak to each other, they don't touch habitually, and they don't really acknowledge the rest of the compartment. By the time they reach Hogsmeade station, Hermione wants nothing more than to get _out_ of the compartment and even Draco – who had been sitting with Harry before she and Neville and was apparently already acquainted with him – hurries out of the cart before the dark-haired boy.

She sees him again, standing nearby the giant of a man shouting for "firs' years!" and speaking directly to the man's dæmon. It's unnerving and she avoids him studiously the whole way up to the castle.

**end**


	5. Snape

**AN: I really do like writing Severus like this. He's far more interesting when I can make his dæmon act on his emotions. It makes everything just...delightfully open while still remaining _Snape_. **

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**Snape**

Severus Snape watches with his dæmon the first years enter the Great Hall. He's looking for one student in particular but nods a greeting to Lucius' son regardless. Svenia is a pretty ermine which is the only sign that the boy is nervous. She tends to prefer bird forms so if she's a mammal it means that Draco is seeking comfort of a warm body to cuddle.

Braith spots the boy first. "There he is," she whispers as she stretches out one black wing to casually preen it and disguise their searching, "just behind Draco – near that new Weasley boy."

"I see him," he murmurs.

Lily's son has her eyes and a soft looking smile that highlights the fact that he has her face-shape behind the glaring obviousness of the Potter hair, poor vision, and nose (more Greek and less gently curved than Lily's).

He had been prepared to think of it as a miniature Potter but the boy down there doesn't have any of the mannerisms he had hoped to see. He isn't muttering and ignoring the Sorting Hat's speech, he isn't already glued at the hip to another Gryffindor and he isn't staying well away from the Slytherin table. In point of fact, he looks…rather Slytherin-bored; bored but disguising it well from anyone not _looking_ at him.

"His dæmon is a raccoon dog," Braith says. "Rather exotic for a child – especially since she's taking an albino colouring – but I don't think they chose it to be obvious." His dæmon is intrigued now, staring at them deliberately and intently, and she picks at Severus' hair. "Look at her Severus!"

"I see her," he replies curtly.

He watches the sorting only absently and there's a hushed murmur when Minerva announces "Harry Potter!" from the list.

"Excuse me," he is perfectly polite and waits for the others to move before walking sedately up to the Hat and the stool. "Hello again, Professor," he adds when he's closer, "Julius." He nods at her dæmon.

Julius flicks his tail. "Hello to you as well, Mr. Potter. Tahmryis."

The Hat is settled on his head and his dæmon curls at his feet – not touching. The Hat grumbles something and Harry's lips – barely visible beneath the wide brim of the hat – quirk upwards but don't open to speak.

There is a deafening silence in the Hall as everyone strains to hear the Hat muttering occasionally while the Boy-Who-Lived (Lily's _son_) sits there silently and his dæmon naps. It goes on for several minutes. The Weasley twins are already scrambling to time it – eager to see if a first year will break a record.

Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds later (not that Severus was counting) the brim of the Hat splits open. "SLYTHERIN!" it shouts and the hall descends into madness.

Braith caws delightedly, flapping a few feet off of his shoulder, before settling. "We get to have Lily's _son_!" she hisses in satisfaction.

The boy removes the hat to the stunned shouting of the Hall. Dumbledore's familiar – a male javan peafowl – makes a loud _ki-wao_! _Ki-wao! _while spreading his impressive tail and the man himself taps his wand twice against his glass. The hall silences immediately and Dumbledore smiles but looks troubled before instructing Minerva to continue on with the sorting. His familiar folds his tail neatly and bobs his head.

Harry walks to his new House's table with his dæmon following along behind him. He slows to let her walk past him down the narrow space between the table and the wall. She trots down to an empty space near Draco and then scrambles up to perch on the table-top. Svenia tries to greet her with a friendly rub but the daemon growls and snaps her teeth and focuses on her boy instead. Harry takes his place and turns to watch the rest of the sorting.

When the feast is over, Severus goes to collect his House. The younger students take their cues from the older ones and wait patiently for him to take his place at their head and lead them down to the dungeon.

Braith looks backwards longingly when they ask the prefects to explain the dining schedule, curfews, tutors, and dormitory arrangements. "Can't we just look at him?" she asks.

"You've seen him."

"Not _properly,_" she snaps waspishly. "We've not even met his dæmon."

"We will tomorrow evening; he's scheduled for his meeting then." Severus knows that she can't help being anxious – he is too – but he wishes that she would stop announcing it to the world. "Can you wait that long?"

"I suppose I'll have to, won't I?" she says reasonably but he can tell from the way she turns her beak that she's still upset.

They wait until the next morning which all the students have free (it's found that it makes it easier for them to transition to classes if they don't have to rush about without knowing how to get to the Great Hall at least). The see their students alphabetically so Pansy Parkinson and her desire to room with Millicent Bulstrode rather than alone (and vice versa) is the last problem they must solve before they can have Potter fetched for his private meeting.

The boy walks in with an albino polecat on his shoulder. Braith trembles with delight but remains otherwise calm.

"Mr. Potter," he greets softly, watching the boy sit down and the boy's dæmon settles herself on the arm of the chair – closing her eyes and behaving very much like a sphinx. "Her name…?" he tilts his head pointedly and prepares to fill in the register open on his desk.

"Tahmryis is a boy," Harry says. He looks over at Braith. "Are you a Northern Raven?"

"I am," she says quickly, "my name is Braith." She flaps to the edge of the desk and looks ready to go over and greet his dæmon.

Harry's smile is no longer calm. It looks forced now. "We don't like to be touched," he says.

"Any particular reason _why_?"

"No," the boy looks at Severus now and the green eyes are hard and cold. His dæmon is sitting upright and has his little paws propped on one of the boy's arms – peering up fixedly at his boy without speaking. "May I leave?"

"Have you had any problems since arriving? Concerns?" Severus notes the name and gender of the dæmon (he has to cross out his automatic female he'd marked down) and ignores Braith twisting to look at him incredulously. It's unlikely that Harry recognizes the signs – most people cannot tell at a glance the emotions of bird dæmons – but it makes him reach out and brush a hand down her back to calm her regardless.

"None, thank you Professor Snape," he says. "May I?"

"You may. Come to me first if you have any problems, understood?"

"Of course," he smiles and dips his head in acknowledgement before leaving. His dæmon drops to the floor and becomes a white wolf to trot along after him.

Severus feels something inside him clench. Braith, after all, had also been fond of wolves as a form when they had still lived with Tobias Snape.

**end.**


	6. Draco

**AN: Well this is certainly my most popular fic. It's also the most fun to write so that's a bonus. Now, I've been seeing a lot of favourites, alerts, and such but I still have a distinct lack of reviews.**

** I'm not nagging but that's exactly what I'm doing. Review this, damnit, before I go crazy. **

_** Crazier,**_** in any case. **

* * *

**Draco**

Harry Potter isn't anything like what he'd expected. When he meets the boy at Malkins, he's only curious because the pretty white cat is ignoring Svenia completely. She touches her bill to his hand and walks forward curiously as he gets up on the stand to be measured. The boy is inspecting something critically in the cut of his robes and muttering to the tape measure to take something in no matter _what_ measurement it thinks it should be instead.

"Please don't touch Tam," he says absently and Svenia freezes because the boy had looked up and held her gaze for a moment before returning to his hushed conversation with the tape measure.

"Hello," Draco says and the boy's dæmon gives him a cursory glance before curling up and facing the wall. He feels shunned and Svenia croons to him and leans against his side even though the tape measure flits angrily about her. "My name is Draco Malfoy and you are…?"

"Harry Potter." Bright green eyes fix on him and Draco does his level best not to flinch. The boy looks at him the same way his father looks at his Dark Mark (on the few occasions Draco has caught glimpses of him doing it through the study door). Then his tape flicks noisily and he turns to it sharply. "Stop that; the length is fine as it is."

"You _are_ going to Hogwarts then?" Draco asks. "Only, no one has heard from you and so we weren't sure."

"Were not," Harry corrects him. "You've been taught not to use contractions so don't feel the need to relax your behaviour just on my account."

"How did he know that?" Svenia asks curiously, peering at the boy's dæmon for an answer. It flicks the very end of its tail and continues to ignore her.

Harry Potter frowns at Draco's dæmon. "He's wearing a cashmere scarf," he says as though Svenia should know better. Then he turns his attention back to Draco and continues. "And you have a posh accent – not just a posh accent because you're moderately wealthy and want to put on airs to feel superior – but because you've been given lessons on etiquette and comportment. Your dæmon practically spit when you used 'weren't' and she _did_ give it away with her question."

"_Obvious_," his dæmon mutters darkly.

Draco doesn't react to the male voice but Svenia says '_oh_!' once, very quietly, and Draco – for the first time – feels embarrassed by something his dæmon has said.

"What's her name?"

Svenia makes a startled noise (asking is _rude_) but Draco can't help but feel that if this boy _didn't_ ask it would be all the more disturbing. "Svenia," he says softly.

"It's a pretty name," Harry Potter says with an easy smile. He turns when the door opens and watches a witch and her cat dæmon enter. "Hello Professor McGonagall and Julius," he says brightly. "Draco, Svenia, this is our Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. Professor, this is Draco Malfoy and Svenia."

"Pleasure to meet you Professor," Draco says quickly. Svenia arches her neck in distaste. They've heard from their godfather – Severus – that this woman is head of Gryffindor. He knows that she _tries_ to be fair but that Slytherins are _always_ treated poorly in comparison. He has to be polite though, and so he greets her properly and then turns his head to stare awkwardly at Harry Potter.

Potter's got his head cocked curiously and he grins a little at something his dæmon murmurs in his ear. Draco's startled to realize he hadn't noticed the other boy's dæmon change forms and now he's unnerved by the albino colouring he's only just realizing the dæmon had the whole time.

"I hope we end up in the same house," he says cheerfully, "it would be nice to know someone there already."

"It would be nice," Draco agrees and feels something warm in his chest – low and comforting like sitting near a fire – that makes Svenia preen with pleasure despite the obvious dismissal from Harry's dæmon.

It's odd – when he thinks on the encounter later – that he was as comfortable as he was with Harry Potter. Dæmons always intermingle; it is the way most social pecking orders are solved. The dæmons solve problems their humans have before the humans even feel a need to address the problem themselves. Harry Potter doesn't _let_ his dæmon solve such problems. His dæmon doesn't acknowledge the world and they don't like to be touched.

He asks his mother about that sort of behaviour later. She's sitting in her solarium with Raziel and the Arabian leopard looks up when he enters and cordially presses his head against Svenia's. Svenia, for her part, shifts into a clouded leopard and curls within reach of Raziel.

"Mother," he says formally. She peers at him silently over the rim of her teacup and Raziel flicks his long tail slowly. Draco lowers his gaze nervously and stares at the perfect pale golden fur of his mother's dæmon – tracing the black whorls to avoid her expectant eyes.

"What is bothering you, Draco?" she asks finally.

He wants to be evasive but Narcissa Malfoy doesn't like to be toyed with so he just opens up and says it: "I met Harry Potter today. His dæmon is a boy and it ignores everyone and everything except for him."

Raziel turns his head and peers up at her expectantly. His mother closes her eyes for a long moment and then opens them. "Mr. Potter may be a sociopath. Else, he may simply carry an aversion to his dæmon physically touching another dæmon. How interesting."

"Should I refrain from attempts at contact then?" Svenia murmurs to Raziel.

"If that is his preference," Raziel replies sedately. "You should, of course, treat him politely even if he does not acknowledge you or your efforts. His human may notice the subtlety."

"Harry Potter talks to dæmons," Draco says stiffly. He's telling his mother information she hadn't considered but he's really telling Raziel. This is the way one is _supposed_ to deal with dæmons but, after Potter, it feels strange – like when he runs his hand down Svenia's back and upsets the order of her feathers or fur.

His mother looks interested now – and wary – and Raziel's tail becomes very still. Svenia mimics the position and casually leans against Draco's leg. He refrains from petting her because that would be an outward sign of his discomfort and he must learn to comport himself as calm, collected, and in control as a Malfoy must _always_ be seen.

"Be very cautious in your dealings with Mr. Potter, Draco," she tells him – holding his gaze in hers as Raziel stalks forward and stares down at Svenia until she drops to her belly. "He will be either a very good ally or a truly _horrible_ enemy. At this point, you cannot tell which and I do not suggest you try. Treat him as an acquaintance – nothing more, nothing less – until he reveals his hand to you, understood?"

"Yes mother." Svenia pressed her head under Raziel's chin and made a low noise. Raziel's golden eyes seem to soften and he nuzzles briefly before pacing to his usual spot beside his human's lounge.

**end.**


	7. Marcus

**AN: I cannot believe I forgot to put up a new chapter. Do forgive me. I got distracted by a massive test for my Greek Society and Law course that I had to study for (turned out to be a waste of studying, finished the 1.5 hour test in about 20 minutes). Please accept this chapter with my apology. I shall endeavor to stop it from happening again. **

**Also, if you have any interest in Sherlock, I've been doing some fills for the older prompts pages that weren't given any consideration. I'm considering posting them to my live journal (only one is currently there) under the same name as I am here. If anyone wants the links to the filled prompts in the meantime, I've got them on hand and I'll send them over whenever I get the request, yeah? **

* * *

**Marcus**

Marcus Flint isn't what anyone would call "brilliant" without referencing Quidditch. Even then they'll argue it because most of his plays involve digging at the weakest point of the opposing team which – while effective – isn't exactly ground-breaking strategy.

Of course, it doesn't take much to realize that – while Potter may be in Slytherin – Harry Potter is _not_ a Dark wizard. He is, however, very unnerving.

The boy's dæmon doesn't so much as grace the others with a second glance after he and his human have identified the species of settled dæmons. The dæmon pays a fraction more attention to the dæmons of children who haven't settled but only to whisper in Potter's ear or make it very clear that he won't be interacting with them.

Androktasia had settled as an Egyptian Vulture back when Marcus had turned fifteen. He was thrilled that she could still go with him to play Quidditch but mostly he'd liked her fearsome appearance. She had glorious white plumage with black feathers interspersed in the wings and a pale yellow face with a wicked looking black beak surrounded by a hackle of long, ragged white plumes. She was intimidating and impressive but, like Marcus, not exactly what one would call "brilliant."

That didn't mean they were stupid though. She watches over the younger Slytherins carefully and points out the ones that would benefit from being tutored by gentler students and which ones need to be brought down a peg or two.

"I don't know who could be paired with him," she says finally, sounding defeated, as they sit and go over the lists of students. Professor Snape encourages unity within the House as they aren't granted much quarter in the rest of the school. Inside the common room and dorms, fighting is forbidden and any grudges must be left in the hall.

He's also very demanding of their grades. He organized the tutoring system whereupon first and second year students are paired with an older student who will help them with homework and make sure they understand the dynamic of the House. The idea behind the latter purpose is that the younger will have their dæmon settle into something appropriate and will then no longer require guidance.

Fifth and Seventh year students don't have to participate because they have their OWLs and NEWTs, respectively, for which their study time is already dedicated. The prefects are supposed to be the ones organizing the system but they're clearly out of their element with Harry Potter. Marcus and Androktasia like to go over the lists each year just to see who Slytherin has got each year and take guesses as to who will go together. They're usually right about it, too.

"Let us," she suggests finally. He figures it's an alright idea and makes the suggestion.

The next week, Harry Potter enters the library with his dæmon yawning widely and showing off long teeth. He's a wolf today then (it's well-known by now that Harry has a boy dæmon) and decided on pure snowy white with bright golden eyes.

He's a very _large_ wolf he realizes – now that Potter is closer to Marcus. The dæmon's shoulder only just brushes against the first year's own.

"Hello Marcus Flint," Potter greets him pleasantly. His dæmon has already seen Androktasia and so prowls around to the table and hops up to awkwardly curl itself into one of the chairs. "Androktasia, was it?" he adds with a polite glance to Marcus' dæmon.

Androktasia is nothing if not practical. "We're to be your tutor-advisor person," she says bluntly.

"Andy," Marcus mutters lowly.

"What? We _are_."

"Alright," Potter says simply. "Are we done then?"

"Yes," Andy says, at the exact time Marcus says "No."

"_Boring_," Potter's dæmon grumbles.

Potter's lips are in a thin displeased line but he stares at Marcus expectantly and doesn't move to leave. Then, as Marcus's mind flounders for a reason to keep the boy within sight for longer than he rightfully need be, the boy makes an odd tittering noise. "You want to know what I think he'll be," he says and his lips are curled in amusement now.

"_Boring!_" his dæmon snaps this time.

Potter spares a moment to give his dæmon a fond glance. "Very," he says agreeably and his dæmon settles down again. "We're trying some out for size," he explains to Marcus. "I think he's particularly handsome today, don't you?"

"Dangerous," Andy mutters in his ear and Marcus maintains a stony look when Potter's dæmon flicks his ear in their direction.

Potter smiles vaguely. "That is the point," he says to her. "May we leave?"

He lets the boy go after arranging to meet with him once a week. Potter agrees to Thursdays because he has Astronomy at midnight on Wednesday so he'll wake up around the same time the Slytherin Quidditch team returns from early morning practice.

Their next meeting is a polite query about classes ("_boring_" according to his dæmon and "interesting" according to the human) but Marcus finds himself tracking the Potter brat down that evening to confront him about his flying lesson.

"Explain it to me again."

Harry looks cross – not sulky which would suit his age but actually _cross_ – and his dæmon is a white gyrfalcon on his shoulder (they'd given up on the wolf form after Professor Snape had forced the boy to visit the Headmaster, or so the rumour went).

"He grabbed what he thought was the rememberall but was actually Evyra – Neville's dæmon." Andy hisses at the thought. "Tahmryis just fetched it back and I don't see what the problem is."

"Gryffindor."

"Obviously," Potter rolls his eyes. "It was cruel of Draco to not realize what he was holding. Neville was _crying_. It should have been obvious."

He makes a fair point. The Gryffindor's dæmon had been in an unbreakable container – it could hardly just change form and escape from the Malfoy brat when he'd gone and flown off with it. The temporary separation would have _hurt _beyond anything Marcus could readily imagine and Longbottom was _still_ in the Hospital Wing.

"You aren't making any allies in Slytherin, you know?"

Harry Potter looks at him blankly. His dæmon preens an outstretched wing and the boy cocks his head to one side. It makes him look eerily like a doll and Marcus feels Androktasia shuffle awkwardly on his shoulder. Then, the boy smiles, "This isn't about Evyra. This is about Tahmryis shoving Draco."

Damn him, he's right. "It's _not_ something to joke about, brat," he snaps. "You can't just…_touch_ other peoples' dæmons."

"I know," he replies easily. "Tam didn't actually _touch_ Draco. He shoved him over – only came into contact with robes and gloves. It was our flying lesson; if there were ever a class Draco could have been more covered, I cannot imagine it. He didn't even fall all that hard and I certainly didn't feel a thing so no harm was done."

By all accounts, Potter's story is true. His dæmon had leapt into the sky as a hummingbird and then ploughed Draco off his broom with a cleverly timed transformation into a wolf and then a hummingbird once again. He'd returned to the ground himself and back to the wolf's form and Potter hadn't even felt the need to touch his dæmon. Certainly nothing untoward could have happened if Potter hadn't even given his dæmon a single pat?

But the implication has isolated Potter from the House and most of the school. No one wants to go near him or associate with him (even Andy had protested going to meet with him again) because Harry Potter has no problem with allowing his dæmon into situations where it might physically touch a person that _isn't_ Potter.

From the way Potter '_tsks' _as soon as Marcus tiredly tells him to shove-off, he isn't unaware of that either.

He just doesn't care.

**end.**


	8. Dumbledore

**AN: To make up for 2 weeks without an update, I'm posting this additional chapter today. I felt bad after the last one but I didn't really realize quite how bad until this morning. So, here we are. **

**You have no idea how much I've wanted to make Fawkes Dumbledore's dæmon. But I didn't so I just included our lovely phoenix anyway because I end up doing something far better in the...next chapter, I believe. I can't remember right now when, but it _is_ soon. **

* * *

**Dumbledore**

Severus told him that Harry Potter's dæmon had been a wolf for almost a week. Actually, Severus hadn't said anything but Braith had been vocal and concerned to Malchior and Albus's dæmon has urged him to call the boy up to the office.

"We picked the Dursleys," Malchior had said mournfully. "The least we can do is try to fix the mess we've made."

So he has Severus bring Harry Potter up to the Headmaster's office at his earliest convenience. Malchior paces anxiously in front of the desk while Albus strokes Fawkes' head gently. The phoenix croons softly at them and Malchior stops pacing quite so furiously – hopping up to the desk and leaning up so Fawkes can press his graceful neck against the dæmon's.

The door opens and Severus comes in, hands clasped behind his back with Braith perched worriedly on his shoulder, and Harry Potter is just behind.

The boy looks _so_ much like James but his eyes are all Lily. Albus feels his heart wrench at the memory of the boy's mother begging for help casting the Fidelius.

"Not now," Malchior murmurs gently.

Albus shakes the memories away. It would do no good to think on the poor young couple now. Now he has to focus on the son – the poor boy whose dæmon was a wolf of particularly frightening proportions.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," Harry demurrers politely. "May I ask why I was brought here?"

The boy's dæmon (Tahmryis, he remembers is his name) inhales carefully and turns to his boy. Harry glances down and then bends at the waist just enough to let his dæmon mutter something in his ear. He smiles and pats his dæmon just once on the head and then the wolf is staring fixedly at Albus and Malchior.

"Professor Snape and I are concerned about Tahmryis spending quite so much time as a wolf," he says without attempting to hide his concern or the worry in his voice.

"Is it a problem?" Harry asks in a reasonable tone. "Tahmryis is trying out forms we find particularly striking. Is he not succeeding?" He gestures at his dæmon and the wolf's mouth splits open and his lips pull back just far enough to show the tips of long teeth. His too-wide ears prick forward and his tail is perfectly straight and parallels the floor. His fur is brilliantly white – unmarred by the usual grey shading one expects from a wolf – and his eyes are golden and bright in his face. He doesn't look rangy or lean like the wolf dæmons one sees from abused or mistreated children; he looks healthy and bright and _striking_ indeed.

"Very striking," Malchior compliments uneasily. His long tail hasn't once fanned open as he likes to do and Albus reaches out to touch the soft green feathers in assurance.

"May we leave?" Tahmryis says bluntly. His eyes haven't moved so Albus knows that the dæmon has seen every motion and interaction between Malchior and his wizard. He gets the distinct impression that the wolf is not impressed.

"Tam," Harry says in what should sound like a scold but comes out sounding empty. Lily's eyes are cold and glittering and they match the golden of his dæmon in disinterest.

"Apologies," Tahmryis says without looking at Harry. "May we?" he repeats while turning his head to stare at Malchior alone rather than Malchior and Albus.

"That depends on you," Malchior says carefully, casting a wary look at Albus and the silently fuming Braith across the room.

"Stop being stupid," Braith finally snaps and Severus tries to quiet her but she refuses to listen to her human. "You can't go around and think about Settling as a wolf. Wolves are for warriors and psychopaths and abused children. We aren't going to let you get hurt again so you _can't_ be a wolf!"

"We could," Harry says to Braith coldly. "If we wanted to, we could. And, Sir, if this is the only reason we've been brought here, you needn't worry. This isn't going to be Tahmryis Settled."

"Too _unoriginal_," Tahmryis says archly – settling back on his haunches and neatly placing his giant paws together.

Harry's lips curl faintly in a smirk and the wolf tilts his head slightly. Malchior shivers and Braith makes a nervous croaking noise.

"Harry," Severus says quietly. The boy straightens his back and the smirk falls away into a calm – almost serene – expression. "Please explain properly and _politely_ to the Headmaster."

"Tahmryis likes striking forms," Harry says simply. "A wolf is striking regardless of the social connotations and so he's being a wolf this week. Next week he'll be something else; the same for the week after that and the week after _that_. When he says he feels like he's close to Settling, I will be sure to tell Professor Snape and Braith. When he's Settled, I will, of course, fill out the correct forms."

"Headmaster?" Severus asks as he places a careful hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry doesn't look uncomfortable under the hand but Tahmryis swings his head around to stare until the Potions Master removes the limb from his boy's person.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has seen many children pass through the halls of Hogwarts – as a Professor and as its Headmaster. He has sat through many trials as both Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. He has seen many, many dæmons and observed the reactions and habits of thousands more wizards.

He has only seen one other person whose dæmon behaved with the same juxtaposition of character – the same fierce devotion to their human while being completely at ease with the idea of _interacting_ and separating. That person had been Tom Riddle and Albus desperately wants to do _right_ by this very similar child before him as he had not for the other.

"Harry, you must promise to go to Professor Snape or I if _anything_ happens," he says finally and he is aware of how heavy and tired his voice sounds. It is mirrored in the drooping tail and lowered head of Malchior.

The look the boy gives is a strange one; as though Albus has said something far more than just a simple request. He wonders if his worry is apparent. But no, Severus is simply watching Lily's son and even Braith hasn't looked to him sharply to catalogue his words for her wizard to go over later and demand explanations.

Tahmryis has turned though and that wolf-grin is back in place. He murmurs "_interesting_" and then puts his muzzle under Harry's hand. It looks like an awkward sort of bend – his head is nearly level with Harry's shoulder – but Harry just lifts his arm and gently strokes the length of his dæmon's back.

"Certainly, Headmaster, though I do not anticipate running into any trouble." Harry makes as if to leave and Albus nods.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Malchior says gently. "It was nice meeting you, Tahmryis."

The wolf's tail wags once – _tok tok_ from side to side – and then he's gone down the stairs and Harry is walking sedately after him. Severus lingers for a moment – Braith watching the boy leave – and stares at him intently.

"He'll be fine," he says firmly. It sounds like a promise but Albus remembers how well the Head of Slytherin fulfilled his _last_ promise.

He smiles anyway – hopefully it looks grateful – and Malchior croons gently at Braith and the raven flutters her wings and looks away.

**end.**


	9. Neville

**AN: You should all know that I have a couple chapters written at any given time. That being said, I've only just started writing a section with Ron (oh god _finally_) so it'll be quite awhile before we see any of him. Minor spoiler to tide you over till then: his dæmon's name is Nanna. Why? BECAUSE IT'S FREAKING CUTE THAT'S WHY.**

** Not that I think Ron needs a cute ****dæmon**. Just that I like the sound of it. Also, it means bravery or some such rot so I figure it suits him some, yes?

* * *

**Neville**

"Why are we even out of the dorm?" Evyra hisses softly from his shoulder. She has been shaken since the encounter with Draco and their brief forceful separation and hasn't taken a single insect form since. Instead, she's taken an almost vindictive glee in picking forms that _eat_ insects. She is a large tree-shrew currently and her fur is a beautiful red shading to black and her tail is long and bushy – draped over Neville's bicep.

"Ron Weasley got challenged to a duel by Malfoy and Hermione was going to try and stop him. We can't just _leave_ her."

Evyra makes a soft chuffing noise and presses her nose to his cheek. "She's the floor below us – I can see Kavieke on the banister there," she whispers gently.

Neville looks down and, sure enough, Hermione is very carefully creeping up the staircase – looking around furtively to be sure it isn't intending on moving. Kavieke is an Aye-Aye and his wide gleaming eyes look up and catch in the light to become huge circles of yellow lamplight. "Evyra?" he calls up curiously while sitting on his haunches and peering up at Neville. "What are you doing awake?"

"Looking out for you, dolt," Evyra hisses quietly back. Neville flushes and Hermione shoots her dæmon a sharp look when he appears to be about to respond in kind.

"Neville? Do you know where we are?" she asks cautiously. She climbs the staircase quickly and pauses a little away from him. Kavieke wanders over and sniffs at Evyra who tucks herself under his chin neatly to keep an eye on the hallway behind him while he keeps his gaze focussed the opposite way.

"Second floor, I think," he says softly. "It's _way_ past curfew – we need to get back to the House."

"Yes," she nods quickly and her face is pale at the thought of lost points – no doubt.

They're almost out of the moving staircases when they catch sight of Mrs. Norris. The cat is blinking at them and she races off down the hall yowling for Filch. They hear the caretaker's voice and the rasping voice of his dæmon – a dark, scruffy, lean little schipperke dog – telling him to hurry because Mrs. Norris has found students!

They duck inside the nearest door – scrambling up the staircase to reach the door in time. It's locked and Hermione hisses "_Alohamora!_" frantically. It opens and they dive in, shutting the door quickly, and then lean back against it listening intently for Filch.

He's muttering and his dæmon is sniffing about loudly. Eventually the sound tapers off and the children heave a sigh of relief.

But then they hear the growl.

The Cerberus must be old to be as large as it is and it snarls – all three of its heads in unison – and lunges. Evyra shrieks and Kavieke hisses and wizards and dæmons alike are out of the room and racing carelessly through the halls to burst into their common room almost before they even realize they've moved.

Evyra says the Cerberus was sitting on a trapdoor. By mutual consent, Hermione and Neville agree never to go back to the third floor. They also agree never to speak of it again.

But when Harry Potter appears in front of Neville a week later in the library with Tahmryis still a white gyrfalcon with a fierce golden glare, he finds himself telling the boy all about the midnight adventure.

"I'd heard about Draco's foolishness," Harry says thoughtfully. An older Slytherin is standing behind him with a white vulture on his shoulder and he's glowering at the first-year Gryffindor. Harry either doesn't notice or he doesn't care but Evyra wilts under the stare of the other until even Harry has to take notice. "We're done for the week, aren't we?" he asks shortly. Tahmryis stretches his wings and looks away.

"You better know what you're doing, Potter. I don't want to explain to the Professor," he warns.

"Good _afternoon_, Marcus, Androktasia." He stresses the afternoon and flicks one, brief, cutting glance at the other Slytherin.

The elder snorts derisively but leaves and then Neville almost wishes he were back just to escape the intent stare from Harry _and_ his dæmon.

"What is on the third floor?"

"What?" Neville tries to pretend like he doesn't know (he hadn't said a word about the room with the Cerberus – just that he'd been up there and gotten scared) but Harry's arching one fine eyebrow delicately and he sighs. "Cerberus."

"Truly?" Tahmryis looks interested when he speaks and Evyra (still a tree-shrew) jumps at the suddenness of the other dæmon actually _speaking_ to them. "A Cerberus," Tahmryis repeats slowly – delicately, silkily, in awe of the syllables – as though tasting the word.

There's no one in the library to see the change. Harry tilts his head curiously as his dæmon becomes the white wolf they'd already tried and dismissed. Neville sits in stunned disbelief as the wolf ripples – muscles bulging and warping while the legs remain just as long-limbed as before – and then there's _three heads_ and the body is bulkier and the necks_ – plural! – _are thicker and then Tahmryis snorts with his new limbs and his tail goes _tok tok_ from side to side just once. "_Fascinating_," he breathes as a three-headed wolf.

Harry's eyes are very wide and he kneels to stare at every inch of his dæmon. His hands run almost frantically over the three heads – caressing the ears, touching the mouths, stroking the throats – and then they're all over the body, touching the paws and picking each up individually, and following the line of the tail. Neville feels himself flushing because, really, Harry's one of the most reserved people in the entire school in regards to touching one's dæmon and here he is practically _molesting_ Tahmryis right in front of him!

"_Brilliant_," he whispers reverently. His lips pull back in a wide, almost demented grin, and he breathes the word "_brilliant!_" again as though once doesn't do his dæmon justice.

But Neville is horrified because dæmons of wizards _can't_ become magical creatures. Muggles experiment all the time as children but magical children are utterly incapable of the same. Even the muggleborns cannot have their dæmons take a magical form. It's not an unusual thing for children not to experiment with them either so the Muggles don't notice if the children don't try strange or fantastic creatures. Wizards, however, wizards are acutely aware of the difference. Their ability to manipulate magic means that their dæmons don't get the ability to take a magical form.

But Harry's dæmon is a Cerberus and he's enthralled with his dæmon and Neville is terrified.

Evyra finally speaks – finally breaks the reverential air between boy and dæmon. "You shouldn't be able to do that," she says.

"Do what?" Tahmryis must be focussed on Harry to still be responding.

Evyra sharpens her voice – she's mimicking their gran almost – and says again, "You shouldn't be able to _do_ that!"

He's not sure if it's the tone or not but the pair are blinking at him now – knowingly, curiously, slyly – and Harry speaks for the pair of them again while Tahmryis ignores Evyra and Neville with all _three_ of his heads now. "The new form. Why not?"

"Wizards just can't," Neville whispers.

"I see," Harry says. He tilts his head and examines Evyra and Neville slowly and then turns his gaze to meet the upturned trio of his dæmon. "Thoughts?"

"I like it," Tahmryis says with the middle. "I'm keeping it too," the left head adds as though Harry's contradicted him somehow although he hasn't moved or said a word.

"Not Settling."

"No," the right head amends with a brief nod. "But for now."

"Alright," Harry smiles brightly. "Fascinating story, Neville. I won't tell anyone about your trip to the forbidden corridor either." He's still smiling but Neville hears the threat Harry isn't even aware he's making.

The wolf-grin from Tahmryis makes Evyra tremble; she can see the threat clearly.

**end.**


	10. Harry and A Study in Cerberus

**AN: My frustration with spending hours researching the exact dimensions of Tam's Cerberus form is mirrored by Harry's frustration. Because while initially it was one brief elated transformation, I had spent actual hours figuring out how it would work feasibly. So Tam gets a nice big description again because _damnit I worked hard on that!_**

**As always, reviews are appreciated. **

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**Harry**

After Tahmryis decides to be a Cerberus, Harry's comfortable fringe-life in Slytherin is shattered. Where previously only Androktasia and Marcus Flint felt any need to communicate directly (Draco had been polite, of course, but reserved and distant), now the entire House felt the need to offer their services and advice and thoughts on anything and everything he did.

Tahmryis grows edgier the longer it goes on which only makes him remain a Cerberus rather than convince him to change. Braith worriedly queries after them only to be snapped at by all three heads in unison. Professor Snape asks Harry and the young boy replies cordially that they aren't considering it; it's just interesting.

Most of Slytherin are purebloods and so they often have letters or supervised visits with parents to discuss future fortunes in Professor Snape's office (not that the rest of the school is aware of the latter) and so when Draco's father appears in the common room, no one is surprised. Professor Snape stands beside Draco and dips his head politely. Tahmryis has two of his heads down in an apparent nap but one looks up and nudges Harry gently.

"Mute swan. Black variant colour - unnatural," he informs him.

"Explains Svenia," he says in response – flipping the page of his textbook and peering at the table on the seven uses of dragon's blood. Draco's dæmon is a trumpeter swan today – vaguely greyish in her adolescence with a shiny black bill.

There's a sudden silence in the common room and Harry becomes aware of someone standing before him. His dæmon is silent on the matter but he knows that Tam is upset but busy remaining aloof. He memorizes the table he'd been examining and then turns the page, affecting a nonchalant demeanour before he peers up through the fringe of his hair at the imperious looking blonde aristocrat.

"Lord Malfoy," he says politely and then immediately turns to the swan beside. She's trying to get Tahmryis' attention and making soft noises to demand acknowledgement. Tahmryis opens one eye and then snorts – getting up and turning around to resettle with his back presented to the pair. Lucius's eyes tighten but that is the only outward sign of his displeasure at their slight. "Your name, dæmon?" Harry asks and expects to be answered.

The dæmons _always_ answer when he directly addresses them. He suspects it's something to do with being in shock at the blunt manner. "Zitomira," she says archly.

"Greetings," he says rather than the formal and clichéd 'pleasure' or 'delighted' that he'd almost used. Then he meets Lucius's stare with a polite smile. "May I help you?" he asks. It's neither a tacit admission that he will do the Lord Malfoy a favour nor an agreement to hear him out; he says it in a tone that makes it abundantly clear it is just the polite thing to say and so he'll say it for manner's sake.

"I simply wanted to meet the young man my son has written letters about," Lucius says. Harry would describe his voice almost as a drawl but it is too refined for that – too much polish and not enough silk. He smiles at the blonde in purely childish simplicity. The eyes are tightening again and there's amusement from Tam that makes him almost blow their cover. "Your dæmon has a unique form."

"It's a temporary decision," Harry says and tilts his head to peer at the look of distaste on Zitomira's face. Bird dæmons are always difficult to read; there's only so much movement a bill or beak can make and unless one is familiar with the dæmon in question you can only read so much into the way they move their eyes. If they don't vocally show emotion, most people can't tell at _all_ what they're feeling.

But Tahmryis and Harry are special and so Harry is very aware that Lucius is displeased with the use of contractions but won't try to correct them because they aren't his son and so he has no right to adjust their speech the way they do with Draco. Harry won't express his delight in annoying people but Tam makes a low chuffing noise and climbs languidly to his paws.

Harry is aware, of course, that no one had spent much time examining Tahmryis' form after they saw the three heads. So, he's gleeful to see the reaction from someone who's apparently willing and wanting to take the time to actually inspect his dæmon.

Tahmryis hadn't seen a Cerberus before but figuring out the configuration of three heads hadn't been supremely difficult once they'd perfected the base form. They'd started with a grey wolf as it was the largest breed Harry could find during their intense scouring of encyclopaedias. Of course, a grey wolf didn't have the necessary musculature to support three heads and maintain the speed and length of leg required to still be properly wolf-shaped rather than dog-shaped.

Harry had suggested an extinct breed – the c_anis dirus_ commonly called the dire wolf – to fill out the body more. They could have used a dog but Harry had been adamant that if Tahmryis was going to do a three-headed wolf that they would do it _properly_. Of course, this subtle shifting from the initial transformation with Neville hadn't been noticed by anyone else so only they _really_ knew about the extent of Tam's oddity.

What it resulted in was the form Tahmryis is currently lording over Zitomira's small swan shape. He's larger than a grey wolf and his legs are sturdier and shorter than a grey wolf of the same size would have (not that a grey wolf would be as large as Tam is now). His teeth are longer and sharper than a grey wolf and he's adapted the jaw to have a moderate bone-crushing strength – more than a dire wolf but not as strong as a grey wolf. His ears are pricked forward and they look small against his large heads with the thick foreheads and long blunt snouts. His fur is pure white with absolutely no shading of any other colours and is coarse to the touch with guard-hairs and his eyes are liquid gold rimmed heavily in black.

He's approximately two metres long from tip to tip, his shoulder measures at about a metre, and he most assuredly weighs at _least_ three times Harry's slightly below average 30 kilograms. Overall, he's definitely the largest dæmon in the school and he so rarely gets the chance to properly lord his size over anyone (what with his dedicated disinterest and all).

Harry keeps Lucius enough in his peripheral that he appears to still be politely peering at the pureblood all the while he watches the man's dæmon react to Tahmryis quite suddenly staring her down.

She holds up remarkably, hissing at him sharply, but they can see the tremble that means she's terrified (not that she doesn't _reek _of terror to Tam anyway). Harry's dæmon drops all three heads so he creates one line straight back to the tip of his perfectly still tail. His ears are pricked forward and his pink tongues lazily thrust around gleaming white incisors as he continues to stare silently.

Harry delights in the way he sees Lucius abruptly take a step backward. Professor Snape doesn't move and Braith has her eyes trained on Tam for any sign of movement. It's _wonderful_ to have such attention paid to their actually quite detailed and complicated form and Harry would preen openly if he weren't pretending that Tahmryis isn't doing anything at all threatening.

"If that is all, Lord Malfoy," Harry says happily while tucking his book beneath his arm and rising. He threads his hand into the scruff of the nearest head and Tahmryis blinks lazily up at him while the remaining heads turn up their noses in disinterest and his tail drops. "I must return this book to the library before Madame Pince grows upset at us."

"Of course," Lucius recovers with remarkable aplomb. "Do not let us keep you," he adds with an almost deferential air. Harry only notices because Draco's eyeing his father as though something strange and horrible has happened and Svenia is looking uncomfortable in her swan form but unwilling to change.

"You aren't," Harry assures him and this time Zitomira doesn't so much as blink at the contraction. He smiles at the swan graciously and she looks surprised – looking up at Lucius briefly before dipping her head a little. "Hello, Draco," he looks past them and lets another smile bloom briefly. "Lovely to meet you, Lord Malfoy," he says over his shoulder as they walk toward the exit.

"Black is not a colour I enjoy," Tahmryis addresses Zitomira abruptly before moving to follow his wizard. She doesn't visibly recoil but she does arch her neck a little. "It suits you though."

In the corridor, Harry doesn't remark on Tam's decision to speak. Tahmryis knows he's wondering and so explains, "I know her."

"Where?"

"In the Alley," he says. "But not just the Ally. She is familiar."

"Puzzle," Harry muses delightedly.

Tahmryis wags his tail a little. "Puzzle," he agrees cheerfully.

**end.**


	11. Lucius

**AN: I've usually got a couple complete chapters but the next one is supposed to be Flitwick and it isn't quite finished yet. There may be a delay in the next update, is what I mean to say by that. Still, I hope we like this chapter, especially since I'm very busy setting up for the traditional yearly showdown with Voldemort. It should be _exciting_. **

* * *

**Lucius**

He is aware that Narcissa has warned their son about the potential dangers of associating with the Gryffindor as well as the benefits. If their Lord were to return, he would not be pleased to know Lucius did nothing to obtain his enemy.

But when Draco's letter arrives to say that Harry Potter is in Slytherin…well, now the boy is _interesting_.

He makes the arrangements for a visit with his son to discuss some of the investments Draco has made with his trust funds. It is customary to begin early in Pureblood circles so that the children can learn as they grow how to handle their money and – in theory – their eventual inheritances.

But what he really wants to see is the Boy-Who-Lived.

_His dæmon is a Cerberus this week,_ Draco writes with fearful tones implied in the way his penmanship is less than perfect. _A Cerberus, _he repeats the word as though uncertain what else he can say about it.

"I cannot be sure that Svenia will react accordingly when faced with a dæmon such as a Cerberus," Zitomira says when he reads her the letter. "It was not a matter I considered when teaching comportment."

"You will have to meet Tahmryis yourself to assess the situation," he informs her. She bobs her head in agreement. "I trust it will not be a problem for you."

"Lucius," she says with a sharp scolding look. He reaches out to stroke her head soothingly; he had not meant to offend her.

He steps through the floo and tilts his head at Severus and Braith. The raven says hello politely to Zitomira who returns the greeting. Lucius meets Severus' gaze and asks, "The boy?"

Severus does not react visibly. He tips his head toward the door to the common room and says simply, "He is by the fire. Your son is there as well so an introduction would not be ill-advised."

"Excellent," he says.

When he goes to greet Potter, the boy looks guileless and innocent. He does not appear suited to Slytherin _at all_.

But then the boy turns to Zitomira and demands her name and she _gives_ it to him and he is suddenly reminded of a very different boy long ago. Harry Potter's dæmon does not respond to overtures and looks to be napping. He does not even look all that impressive when he is lying on the floor like that.

"Your dæmon has a unique form," he comments. Unique though it may be, he cannot help but dismiss him when it so rudely refuses to acknowledge him and Zitomira.

"It's a temporary decision," the boy chirrups. He's smiling at them but his dæmon is rising to his feet in a sluggish, lazy fashion and Lucius is suddenly very, _very_ aware of just how unique.

Tahmryis with his heads up rather than hanging is almost the same height as Potter. He is covered in corded, powerful muscles beneath a lush fur coat of the most pristine white. This is not the lean ragged wolf he had expected – not even a lean ragged three-headed one. This wolf is _the_ apex predator. His fangs are long and sharp, his ears are pricked forward, his eyes are golden and bright, and he's licking at his chops with the easy confidence of one aware of being the most dangerous thing in the room.

When the wolf Cerberus drops his heads and stares intently at Zitomira, Lucius takes an involuntary step back. Harry is looking guileless still but Lucius can see the amusement – dark and familiar and yet oh so very _different_ – flashing in the boy's emerald eyes.

"If that is all, Lord Malfoy," he says as he casually threads his fingers into the thick scruff of fur around the nearest head. His dæmon relaxes and the heads rise to a normal height and the tongue lolls just a little in the left head. "I must return this book to the library before Madame Pince grows upset at us."

"Of course," Lucius says automatically. He is still reeling from the familiar glint in this young boy's eyes. He desperately does not want to cause an accidental slight if his suspicions are true. "Do not let us keep you," he inserts just enough deference that the boy smiles knowingly but no one else should recognize the tone.

"You aren't," Harry assures him. Lucius had wanted to correct him earlier – habit from Draco – but now he does not even feel enough emotion that Zitomira reacts. She looks up at him cautiously when the boy smiles graciously at her. He tilts his head a fraction in acknowledgement and she dips her head politely to the little Slytherin. "Hello, Draco," Harry says brightly, looking past them at their son, "Lovely to meet you, Lord Malfoy," he continues absently while walking toward the door.

"Black is not a colour I enjoy," Tahmryis addresses Zitomira and Lucius stares intently at the other dæmon. It blinks at his swan slowly and then says, "It suits you though," as though he is revealing some great piece of information to the world. Then he turns and trots after his human.

Lucius and Zitomira have their meeting with Draco and retreat immediately home to their study where they take out a solid oak case and stare at the little black book laying innocently on red velvet.

Zitomira's bright orange bill touches the little book gently and she pulls her head back to her body – trembling all over and staring at it feverishly. "Not the same," she says softly, "but very similar."

"No one knows what happened that night," Lucius says to her. "Perhaps he…" it is a rare time when a Malfoy is at a loss for words; in the privacy of their study, Lucius goes silent before his dæmon.

The knock at the door startles them into motion. The book in its case is put away and they settle into politely interested as his wife and her dæmon enter.

Narcissa Malfoy is lovely and pale with clear blue eyes. Her dæmon, Raziel, is just as stunning with his perfect white-gold coat with its striking black whorls scattered all across. His eyes are bright amber jewels and he delicately touches his nose to Zitomira's head before sitting down in a perfectly statuesque position.

There is no discernable reason for Narcissa to suspect anything untoward and yet her eyes are hard and glinting. "Lucius, husband," she greets and he _knows_ that she is very much aware of the thing he has hidden in his study. "How was Draco?"

"Fine. He noticed a few errors without prompting and corrected them accordingly."

She watches him silently for a long moment. She knows Draco is just fine – their son contacts her every few days with an extensive update he would not feel comfortable sending to his father – so the question is just a front to get them talking. Zitomira arches her neck haughtily but Raziel is unmoved – his long tail twitches at the tip lazily.

"You have met Harry Potter's dæmon," Raziel accuses suddenly. There is a line of raised hair all up and down his back and his tail is a study in twitching erraticism. His lips pull back from his fangs a little and he lets out a low rumbling hiss. "We had warned you to stay away!"

"We do not listen to _wives_," Zitomira spreads her wings and lowers her head in threat of a charge. "We see for _ourselves _the character of young Mister Potter."

Lucius meets Narcissa's gaze over their dæmons. His dæmon is a swan – perhaps Cissy had known before their marriage – but she still looks disappointed. It hurts a little to know that his closest companion (his own wife) is unhappy but there is little he may do about that. Zitomira is enamoured of their Lord and so is Lucius. She is a swan and she mates for life and their decision was made long before the betrothal contracts were brought about. They were sworn into the service and they _rejoice_ in that decision – the mark on Lucius' arm is a mark of _pride_.

Raziel's tail snaps from side to side and he prowls to the door. Narcissa's pale beautiful face is smooth and she touches her dæmon gently. Raziel is a leopard; he deigns to remain with them because his human does but he does not care – not anymore. Their child is almost grown and they are restless of spending unnecessary time with Lucius and Zitomira. "I have a whim to visit France," she says in parting.

They are not particularly plussed about their departure though they do see them off safely in the days to follow. Zitomira extends her beak to Raziel and he touches his nose to her head but Narcissa does not look at Lucius and leaves without a word.

**end.**


	12. Flitwick

**AN: I finished this rather quickly and abruptly. Filius is very difficult to write for any length of time and it was all degenerating near the end so I had to cut it short. I'm actually rather disappointed but I really can't afford the time to fix it. I've got an essay proposal due in the morning and I haven't started it at all and I'm required to have at least 3 bibilography entries to go along with a working thesis and a brief outline. I'm copping out with feminist re-reading of the works too, to add to my list of failures of the evening. Miserable. Absolutely miserable.**

**Still, I would appreciate feedback on this chapter. Bits that we like and bits that we didn't. As I've made it clear I'm not fond of it, I'd rather like to hear what some others think and _why. _If I'm to include Filius again, I'd like to be able to write him better the next time. **

* * *

**Flitwick**

Filius is certain that any child of Lily's will be a delight to teach. He is proven correct when he first meets Harry Potter and his Tahmryis. Tahmryis has taken unusual forms and albino colour-morphs throughout the school year thus far and so it isn't a surprise when the pair walks in and the dæmon is an albino cougar.

"Any spells today, Professor?" Harry asks politely – tipping his head to smile vaguely at Filius.

"Not today, no, Mr. Potter," he says apologetically. The boy is just like his mother and excels in his Charms work; Filius can see him growing more and more bored of the theoretical work each class.

"Alright then," Harry says and he turns to go to his seat at the back of class where Tahmryis has already settled himself lounging across the desks. Harry never sits with anyone in Charms – not even Ms. Granger with whom he regularly partners with for assignments.

Bryndis watches them go and idly rubs her claws against the stone. "So patient," she observes.

Filius pats her long snout absently and watches Tahmryis slump off the desk the moment Harry sets his book bag down. The dæmon meanders across the room and settles at the opposite side from his human. Harry doesn't look unsettled or uncomfortable in the least when Filius and Bryndis check after him.

The Cerberus had been a surprise, he muses as the students enter the room and take their seats, but not worrying. His specialty is charms and he suspects that Lily put her skills as a Charms Mistress to good work in protecting her son – whatever Albus may think about 'love' as a reason for the boy's survival. It helped them to adjust to the idea when they'd already handled the week of the wolf.

Bryndis edges to the extent of their link and extends her long snout in the cougar's direction. "Have you considered something less overt?" she says in a soft voice. Filius is aware his voice has something of a squeaky tone but his dæmon's voice is all soft and airy and light. It's a gentle voice and one you would never suspect of violence.

People always forget that Filius is a champion duellist and that his start was in rather more…shady places than he'd care to admit. Places where the losers didn't so much lose points but rather _limbs_. They forget that the slowly lumbering anteater that is his dæmon has devilishly long claws and is perfectly capable of killing a man if she were to put her mind to it.

He's not sure what it says about them that they want to encourage the boy to follow along their own path. He's not sure what it says about Harry either.

"Subtlety is boring," Tahmryis mutters darkly from behind the long twitching tail.

"Well," Bryndis says in her reasonable tone, "it certainly offers a number of new options."

"Tam," Harry calls clearly from his seat. The other students hush instantly to peer at the unexpected outburst from the boy. He smiles charmingly at the attention and says to his dæmon again, "Tam."

"Repetitive," the cougar says blandly but gets up and paces over to lie nearby his human. "I've picked the next."

"Tell me about it after class," Harry replies while he turns back to his textbook.

Filius makes sure Bryndis is in a position where she can keep an eye on the students' dæmons. She firmly reminds them to behave when their children aren't paying attention and calmly breaks up the scuffle between two dæmons over whether or not they can both be a specific breed of cat. Filius teaches his students about the history of the Levitation Charm and the limits of its use.

Ms. Granger brings up a curious question about the testing methods that reminds him she's a muggleborn and he explains it as best he's able. Charms, after all, aren't something that can be calculated the way one expects. They vary from wizard to wizard but he's confident of the average based on their showings in other classes.

After class, Harry tells Draco and the lingering Slytherin students to go on ahead. They head off when Tahmryis brushes dangerously close to touching young Mr. Malfoy's hand and Harry tilts his head curiously at their excuses.

"Professor Flitwick," he begins softly, "might you be able to partner Hermione Granger and myself during our practice class?"

"Why-ever for?" Filius asks even as his dæmon comments, "You are very polite."

"Thank you," Harry replies. "Hermione is not one for theatrics. If the levitation charm goes the way I imagine it will, I would prefer to be partnered with someone who will not remark upon it. Slytherin is very tiring that way."

"Alright," Filius says. It isn't surprising that Harry addresses his professors and dæmons both as though they are one unit (which they are, but it is only polite to acknowledge the non-dæmon half).

And, true to his word, during their next class Filius assigns partners from opposing houses and Harry settles genially in beside Hermione Granger.

They work quietly through the theory quiz and he gives them the okay to practice with feathers. Hermione gets it the first try and he gives her five points to Gryffindor as the first student to get the Charm right.

When Harry goes to try he doesn't move his wand in the slightest. The swish and flick (a motion overly exaggerated among children and minute in adults) is completely absent. Harry holds his wand so that the point faces his feather and says in a very composed and precise intonation, "_Wingardium Leviosa_."

The feather lifts with nary a tremble and hovers up at eye level. Filius offers a single point to Slytherin for the effort and instructs Bryndis to offer pronunciation advice to Ronald Weasley across the room.

"Very well done, Mr. Potter," he compliments. The boy lowers his wand and the feather remains afloat. His dæmon blinks up at the bit of white intently. "I see what you meant," he adds – subtly casting the counter-charm to bring the feather back down before Ms. Granger notices.

But he needn't have worried, she's busy practicing the charm and the other students are distracted by Bryndis scolding Seamus Finnegan for nearly blowing up his feather.

"Yes," Harry says simply. He smiles that vague half-quirk of his lips and touches his dæmon on the head. He doesn't pet Tahmryis, just makes contact. The dæmon turns his head and exhales deliberately before lying down. Harry's hand falls away absently. He doesn't bother to practice the charm any more that class.

In the comfort of the teacher's lounge later, Bryndis puts her head into his hands and sighs. "So very much like Lily," she says. "It is remarkable."

"Very," he agrees because Harry Potter _is_ remarkable. But he isn't remarkable for being Lily's son. Filius thinks of the ponderous stare and the near-outright refusal to become anything subtly dangerous rather than outright. Bryndis, like Filius, only _looks_ friendly. A full-grown anteater can kill a man if it wants to.

He can only hope that the outright danger is a deliberate move, rather than an absent one. Not that the former is any less terrifying than the latter, just that the former makes Harry Potter's morality a more questionable scale. Filius really does not want to consider what the boy is capable of if Tahmryis is actually reflecting their personality.

**end.**


	13. Hermione and Close But Not Quite

**AN: Essays and midterms are absolutely brutal. Granted, I could've actually gone to class once in awhile and perhaps then it wouldn't have been so difficult but, really, where's the fun in that?**

**Oh yes, that whole "getting a degree" thing that I'm paying and putting myself in debt for. Waterloo, why are you so expensive? I have a new car I'm financing, you know, I can't be throwing all this money at you for one stupid piece of paper. **

** Except I can, so I will. Alas, it seems I cannot resist a challenge no matter how lazily I complete it. **

**As always, reviews are appreciated. If anyone can guess what Hermione's Kavieke will Settle as, I will give them a figurative cookie. Hint: It's not in the lemur family. Hint 2: It's kind of in a family all its own, despite sharing a name with a species in a completely different family. Hint 3: It will be reddish.**

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**Hermione**

Kavieke is a red-ruffed lemur and Hermione thinks he might decide to settle as one because he keeps picking species from that family. His fur is a rusty orange colour with a soft brown-black ruff of fur around his face that matches his long bushy tail. He has a little patch of white at the back of his neck in the shape of a heart and it makes Hermione smile to see.

His wheat-yellow eyes blink at her curiously and he brings his tail around to carefully groom it with his comb-like teeth. "Thinking about something?" he asks even though he knows she is. She flicks him off balance and her dæmon laughs a little but regains his balance almost immediately. "Out with it then: what's the matter?"

"Shouldn't we be curious about that room?" she asks.

Her dæmon immediately puffs up and makes an odd hissing growl. "Not at all!"

She runs a hand down his fur until it's smooth again. "Alright," she agrees. "It would be stupid to go back there after we've been told not to anyway."

"_Very_ stupid," he stresses while eyeing her warily. "Stop that look. That's your curious look and last time you were curious we got left in the library past curfew and had to sneak back."

She wasn't thinking about going back. She's _not_ stupid, no matter how curious, but she _was_ thinking about that trapdoor and what could be beneath.

Kavieke makes a startled squeak and clings to her chest frightfully. Her hands come up automatically to cradle him there and she lets out an embarrassing yelp at the pinkish-red stare abruptly shoved into her line of sight.

"Hello, Hermione, Kavieke," Harry chirrups happily. Tahmryis is an albino cougar now after almost a month of the Cerberus. His pinkish-red eyes are rimmed darkly in black but his fur is soft white and his points are faintly pink beneath the pale. She'd almost expected a bat in the spirit of Halloween but Harry had simply smiled at the suggestion and shared a look with his dæmon.

"Hello, Harry," Kavieke mutters darkly from her chest. "Tahmryis don't _do_ that."

"Didn't realize you wouldn't notice us," Harry says to her dæmon. Kavieke snorts disbelievingly and Harry grins a little. "Okay, maybe we did. How are you, Hermione?"

"Just fine. Did you finish your essay for potions? I'm a few inches too long…"

"Take out the life story of the brewer," Harry advises her knowingly. "Professor Snape already knows who made the potion; there's no point mentioning her beyond the initial crediting. He really does dislike it when students needlessly fluff out their essays."

She blushes because that was exactly what she had been going. In primary, they always praised her for going above the requirements. In Hogwarts, they give her a fondly exasperated look (or an annoyed glare in Professor Snape's case) and ask her to tone it down. She gets the idea that Hogwarts is a good school but not a particularly _gifted_ school like the private primary school to which her parents had her sent.

Tahmryis swishes his tail and lets it noisily thump against the leg of the table. Hermione looks up, startled, but Harry doesn't want her attention (as she had assumed from the unnecessary noise from his dæmon). He's speaking quietly with Kavieke instead and she listens in without saying a word – curious as to what has captured her dæmons's attention enough to make him forget to include her.

"…lot of time as a lemur, we've noticed," Harry is saying thoughtfully. "Not sure it suits you."

"I rather like it," Kavieke says sceptically. "I think this one is very close, actually."

Harry tilts his head and his shoulders rise a little in a shrug. "The colour is nice," he offers, "and that little marking on your neck is rather clever. Unique."

"Interesting," Tahmryis offers absently.

"Exactly," Harry nods. "It's subtle but good."

Kavieke preens and then twitches around to peer at her worriedly. "Sorry," he says penitently. "Didn't mean to."

"Don't worry," she picks him up and cuddles him a little. He rubs his head beneath her chin and she smiles softly. "You really think you'll Settle soon?"

"I think so," he says quietly. "I'm almost there but it's not quite…" the noise he makes is frustrated and she pets him reassuringly.

Harry doesn't look bored but there's something in the way his eyes sit that makes her think she should stop talking. Not that Harry doesn't speak with people or enjoy conversation but he's not exactly…right. Things that you can muse about with friends but not strangers are the sorts of things Harry manages to make you say to _him_ and he never reacts the way you expect him to behave.

"How does Tahmryis become magical creatures?" she blurts.

Harry smiles. "How does Kavieke become a red-ruffed lemur?"

Kavieke chirps – startled. "How did you know?"

Tahmryis _should_ be the one to respond, but Harry is the one who speaks. "I like to know dæmon forms – animals; it's…_interesting_." Tahmryis hacks a cough that is filled with amusement and hidden depths. Kavieke is frozen and staring but the other dæmon just lounges beside his human with his eyes closed and ears flicking back and forth absently.

Hermione thinks that perhaps it's best to keep your dæmon hidden when Harry is around. The way he pays such attention to them is unsettling on a normal level – let alone now that she's heard him call it _interesting_ like that.

"I see," she says in a whisper-thin voice. Harry looks mildly concerned and she waves her hands at him – flustered and desperate – and he shrugs a little.

"Work on it," Harry tells Kavieke gently, "keep the colour. I like it."

She wants to say that Harry's opinions aren't the ones that matter when her dæmon picks a form but _she_ likes the colour too and so she remains quiet. Harry flashes a smile and departs with Tahmryis padding along placidly.

She wants to say something to Kavieke but her dæmon is curled up facing away from her and so she lets him alone to think. In the meantime, she re-drafts her essay and makes certain that it will absolutely fall to the extent of their limit and not one centimetre longer. She even goes back and re-re-drafts it to be certain of the length if she writes at a normal size rather than small and cramped.

"He's right," Kavieke moans eventually. He's turning and curling and pressing his little face into his tail and he's pitched his voice at the most aggravated whine he can manage. Thin and reedy, he moans again.

"About what?"

"The colour, Hermione, the colour!" Her dæmon is absolutely inconsolable and he blinks at her mournfully. "He shouldn't know that," he says sulkily.

She knows what she's about to say won't make Kavieke feel any better, but it will make _her_ feel better to acknowledge it out loud. "Harry shouldn't know a lot of things, but he does and there isn't anything you or I can do to change that."

**end.**


	14. Snape and Less Than Obvious Observations

**AN: I didn't want to post this chapter, so you are all aware. I feel I've made Harry act too much like BBC!Sherlock. I was going to cut this entire chapter completely as a result but instead I went back and interrupted the main Sherlockian monologue so it's in two parts and that made me like it enough to be willing to post it. **

**The following chapters are less Sherlock-inspired, promise. They are a touch more Blind Author-inspired but not overly so, I don't think. Just wait until we hit Year Two. That's when things are going to get interesting. **

**(As always, reviews are appreciated and many thanks to the reviewers of previous chapters etc. etc.) **

* * *

**Snape**

They chase after Quirrell to be sure he doesn't catch the stone. Braith is a flurry of black feathers and worried scolding after as he binds his bitten leg and winces when he walks.

"Shouldn't have done it," she murmurs fretfully. They've paused in the corridor and Severus is carefully running his hands down the leg – feeling for heat or swelling – to try to massage the lingering pain away. "Put the obstacles there for a _reason_; there wasn't one to even bother."

"Quirrell is an admirable professor," he says to her, "but he is not _right_ after Albania. I don't trust him."

"Not the point," her beak clicks noisily. "We're supposed to be watching Lily's son."

"We do," he says in exasperation. "He is perfectly fine."

They'd worried when Quirrell let the troll loose in the dungeons. He'd almost bitten Albus' head off later for suggesting he take his Slytherins to the dorms. The dorms _in the dungeons_.

Luckily, his prefects weren't stupid and so the students were led to the library instead and encourage to complete whatever homework they could or to work on their dæmons Settled forms. He and Braith had gone after Quirrell and made sure that the Troll was herded into the way where _all_ Professors would be forced to deal with it.

Ms. Granger had almost been hurt though, and it stung to think about. Apparently the girl had missed the All Hallow's Eve feast because the youngest Weasley boy had taunted her for her studious nature. The other boys had felt bad about it later – after Longbottom had mentioned it being unfair of them after the girl had helped them more than once – and so Weasley was convinced to go and apologize.

Severus sighs and straightens the leg out again. It hurts but there's nothing for it; he can't take another pain potion for yet another three hours so he'll just have to deal with the pain. Braith croons worriedly.

"Paracetamol, sir?" Harry Potter is standing quite abruptly beside him with a proffered bottle. He's smiling genially and Tahmryis is an albino coral snake wound about his throat.

"Excuse me?" Braith asks in confusion.

"Paracetamol," Lily's son repeats patiently. "Muggle pain-medicine. It works well and won't counter-act most potions. We use it for headaches and growing pains. We follow the directions to the letter too, so you needn't worry about us overdosing, Sir."

He wonders where the boy came from. There certainly hadn't been any footsteps in the corridor and Braith was just as surprised to see the boy. Tahmryis pokes his forked tongue out – tasting the air – and whispers to his boy. Harry smiles a little and shakes the bottle pointedly.

"No, thank you," Severus says. He's bourn worse pain before.

The boy's shoulder lifts a touch. It's not quite a shrug but it conveys his blasé faire attitude toward Severus' refusal. "Checking the guardians?" he asks absently when his dæmon pokes his snout against his cheek. "Only, I can't imagine where else you encountered a Cerberus."

"Been to the third floor then?" Braith demands shrewdly. Severus jostles her and scowls when she snaps. "Oh, of course not." She subsides apologetically after she observes Harry for a moment longer.

Harry dips his head. "I've heard things," he agrees – with her incorrect assumption and her knowing that he's aware of the thing on the third floor. "The, ah -" he searches for a term.

"Flamel's project," Tahmryis says to a mouse as it scurries down the hall.

"Yes," Harry grins mischievously at his dæmon's head. "Flamel's project. It wasn't hard to figure out," he adds to Severus politely. "Vault at Gringott's broken into – clearly holding something of value then, to risk the goblins – and Headmaster Dumbledore announces the third floor corridor is off-limits. Upper years and prefects aren't told why and it hasn't happened before."

"Minerva McGonagall looked annoyed," Tahmryis says slowly. He's deliberately stressing his the 's' noises into hisses and Braith shifts on Severus' shoulder in distaste. "Julius was polite to Malchior."

Harry picks up where his dæmon finished. "Something she disapproves of but still trusts the Headmaster with. So, the vault held something of personal value to the Headmaster as well as being valuable in general; the Headmaster is known for, among other numerous accomplishments, his work with Nicolas Flamel who, as we know, created the philosopher's stone."

"_Obvious_," Tahmryis says with a pointed, bored, look to Severus and Braith.

All Severus can think is that it's the most he's heard Lily's son speak in one sitting all school year.

"Severus," Braith says. She folds herself against his head and croons softly into his ear. It's an odd noise – mostly a low vocalized hum since a raven can't _actually_ croon – that's scratchy and soothing all at once.

"Sorry," he murmurs quietly to her. She's tilting her head in acceptance and they feel naked under the faint smile on the face of Lily's son. He's watching them as though they're just confirming facts he already knew – truths and lies and everything in between are apparent in that slow-blinking emerald gaze and the lidless crimson eyes of his dæmon. "Your essay," he says instead, focussing on the boy and forcing him to pay attention to Severus' words rather than his expression.

"Sir?" Harry queries with a tiny furrow between his brows.

"I don't think it was necessary to include the snide remarks regarding the man's initial failures."

Tahmryis snorts at them. It's not a proper snort, of course, because snakes _can't_ snort, but the noise he makes is close enough that one can't really tell the difference. Harry peers at Severus blankly as though he hasn't a clue what Severus is referencing.

"Oh!" he says eventually. "Well it _is_ obvious, given the knowledge available at the time; he was just stubborn and refused to read the published work of the French equivalent because he was German and they weren't well on then. And they _did_ end up being forced to corroborate, Sir, so really…"

"Unnecessary background, Mr. Potter," he repeats calmly.

The boy's face scrunches up then in a rare show of childishness. His dæmon hisses distaste and coils in agitation like some absurd scarf. "Yes, Sir," he says cordially after a brief flicker where he and his dæmon compose themselves so it's like it had never happened.

"Good lad," he says and watches the sharp glint in the boy's wide eyes. He's shamming then and Severus can't tell for the life of him whether the sham is in the glint or the childish irritation. "You've been keeping your appointments with Mr. Flint, I assume."

"Androktasia is named after the spirits of manslaughter, did you know?" Harry asks in turn. "Their mother – of the androktasiai, I mean – is Eris goddess of discord." The boy reaches up and pats his dæmon's head softly and peers into the distance in thought.

"I am aware of the mythology," he says calmly. "Don't think too deeply on it; the Flint dæmons have always taken rather bloodthirsty names."

"Oh?" Harry lets the unasked question hang in the air until Braith shuffles and can't hold back her explanation even though she wants to set a good example for Tahmryis (_damn it!_) on how a dæmon should behave.

"Mr. and Mrs. Flint's dæmons are named for Menoetius and Achlys," she says. "The titan of violent anger and spirit of the death-mist, respectively. They thought…well, who knows what they thought, giving Androktasia that name. Your mother's dæmon had far more sense," she adds to Severus as an aside, "I _like_ Braith."

"It's a nice name," Harry agrees cheerfully. His smile is wide and easy but he's looking at Braith like she's answered a truly tremendous question and _that_ more than anything reminds Severus of why they watch over Lily's son. "Best be off to amend my essay then," he dips his head politely and then he's off down the hall with just the slightest bounce to his step.

Braith watches them go anxiously. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Merlin, I hope not."

**end.**


	15. Ron

**AN: Yes, this is a late update. Finals caught up to me (and I'm still not done 2 essays and a project, all of which are late) but here we go. **

**Also, Ron, finally, yay! **

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**Ron**

"A dragon, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asks in disbelief. Julius is staring at Tahmryis intently and ignoring Nanna and him so he's grateful for _that_ at least. Nanna plants herself in front of him, nose up and ears perked forward, and her white tail is a furiously wagging little thing. She's furious and relieved and worried and _excited_ and it makes Ron feel squirmy under his own skin.

"Yes," Potter says cheerfully. Tahmryis flutters his wings but doesn't actually move from his perch on the other boy's chest. It makes Ron shudder to see; Tahmryis is a white moth with a little skull and crossbones in black on his back and he's been like that for a week. Potter hasn't bothered to get a case for him so it's obvious that his dæmon won't Settle like that but it's still unnerving. His dæmon could get _eaten_ and then where would he be?

"And how do you figure Mr. Hagrid has a dragon in his possession?"

"Ronald told me," he chirrups and looks fondly at Ron. He gapes at the Slytherin in disbelief and mute horror. They are in _so_ much trouble. "Your idea for contacting Charles Weasley was a good one, don't worry," he is assured.

Nanna scowls at the pair of them as best she can. She's always favoured dogs and she's a beagle today – mostly a pretty ginger sort of colour that matches his hair, with creamy soft white, and a warm brown patching across her coat – because they're hunting for a way out of trouble. "I don't know why I'm here," he eventually says – looking up at his Head of House and hoping she dismisses them in favour of Potter. But McGonagall is a fair Professor and so she just glowers at him and he winces in preparation for the verbal slap.

"You did not immediately report the presence of a young _Hungarian Ridgeback_ to your Professors, is _why_ Mr. Weasley!" she snaps at him.

Julius hisses to punctuate her point – the fur on his back all raised and threatening while his tail lashes like a whip behind him. "Should have known better, Nanna," he says reprovingly to the beagle dæmon.

Nanna's tail droops between her legs and her proud little face ducks behind his chair. She likes Julius and doesn't like to misbehave. They get enough scolding at home and they don't want more at school (especially as Mum will be a thousand times worse if she's got to be called in when they're out from under her wing).

"I am concerned with how Hagrid acquired the dragonet," Potter announces casually. Tahmryis flutters his wings a little at the bored exhale that follows the statement. "They are rare and Hagrid's interest is not something widely known beyond his immediate acquaintances. It _is_ widely known, however, that Hogwarts is home to the only tame Thestral herd, the largest colony of Acromantulas outside of Asia, and one of the few trained Cerberus outside of Greece." He peers over at Julius pointedly and McGonagall looks particularly pale and pinched.

"Acromantulas?" Nanna says loudly- jumping out from her hiding place with an alarming note of urgency in her voice. "Do you know what those _are_?" she asks Tahmryis.

Ron, who is perfectly content with his dæmon knowing things he doesn't, pets her carefully. "What are they?" he asks her cautiously.

She looks at him and hesitates. Her tail drops and she whines. Ron frowns a bit and stops petting. "What?"

"Giant spiders," Tahmryis declares. "Thought I'd try one some time."

"Impractical, of course," Potter says in response to the strangled noise Ron's Head of House makes, "but certainly an interesting idea. I think we'll stick with the normal ones though," he glances briefly at his dæmon and brings up a hand. Tahmryis flutters over and lands gently – lets Potter murmur something off to the side because the moth's wings are sensitive to moisture – and then returns to his place right in the centre of Potter's chest.

"That is enough, Mr. Potter," McGonagall snaps and Potter blinks at her with wide eyes. He reminds Ron of Ginny in that moment and he grips Nanna's scruff hard to stop himself feeling sorry for a Slytherin.

"Professor McGonagall," Snape sounds dangerous when he stalks into the room. His dæmon makes an angry noise at Julius who sniffs imperiously. Nanna yelps and ducks under Ron's chair. He kind of wishes he could do the same. "_Why_ have you accosted my student and kept him from my class?"

She looks over at the bat-like potions master coldly. "He is my student as well."

"He is a Slytherin first; I should have been informed." Ron isn't sure how anyone could stand up against Snape when he sounds like that. Potter looks pleased though and murmurs a greeting to the man's raven dæmon. She asks if they're alright and scolds Potter for not going to them first.

"Professor McGonagall was the best option to contain the little one," he says reasonably. "Quirrell is…well, you are aware of course."

"Don't be rude," she says as McGonagall and Snape continue to speak above their students and negotiate who should and should not be punished.

"We shouldn't be punished," Nanna interjects. Ron wants to drag her back when Potter's eyes flit over and peer at his dæmon with interest. She's still a beagle and she plants all four paws firmly apart to stare up at Braith. "We just tried to help."

"Severus knows that," the other dæmon says. "If your Weasley was listening he'd know that too."

Ron ends up losing twenty-five House points as does Potter but Snape gives his Slytherin ten points for going to a Professor so really it's only fifteen. McGonagall looks furious at this but she's too stern for Ron to be getting any points so he just accepts his punishment. Nanna mutters darkly that it isn't _fair_ but Julius hisses at her and she whines and slinks out of the office after him.

As if to further punish him, Snape says they'll be partnered for a potions project since they were the only two who missed class and didn't get to pick a partner. Ron resigns himself to working with a Slytherin and agrees to meet him in the hallway by the Gryffindor Common Room.

It isn't until much later he remembers that Potter shouldn't know where the Common Room is. By then though, Potter is walking down the hallway with his hands in his pockets and his dæmon fluttering along around his head and Ron isn't sure _how_ he knows where Gryffindor House is.

"Hullo!" he chirrups. "I want to show you something."

"What?" because the last thing that Ron had expected after Potter confronted him about the dragon he knew was living in Hagrid's hut is for Potter to be friendly and cheerful about the trouble. "The homework…"

"The homework is already complete. I'll tell you what to do in class, you needn't worry," Potter assures him. He's smiling still and Ron wonders if Potter is ever perturbed or if he ever acts his real proper age. He's always using big words or fancy ones like 'needn't' and 'acquaintances' and he never sounds _right_.

"What is it?" he asks instead. Nanna is a great red bloodhound now and she exhales noisily at the other boy's dæmon. Potter doesn't seem to pay the frantic fluttering any mind and Tahmryis lands delicately on the tip of his ear.

"Just a mirror," Potter says. "It's _interesting_ though, so come on!"

So Ron finds himself following Harry Potter on an increasingly complicated and twisting path around the school until Tahmryis suddenly flutters off in a different direction and they stop.

Ron watches the distance between boy and dæmon grow until he's wincing at the thought of the same distance between he and Nanna. She snuffles at his hand anxiously. "I wouldn't," she assures. He pets her and wants to kneel to hug her too but Potter suddenly tilts his head and smiles vaguely.

"Tam's found it then," he says. "Go take a look."

"What?" he shoots a look over, bewildered. Potter is looking positively calm but not making any attempt to lead the way or follow along if Ron leaves.

"There's a magic mirror in there and I want you to look in it and tell me what you see," Potter says calmly.

"Why?"

"Do it or I'll explain that you've done none of the work on our assignment, complete with rough drafts and witnesses, and Professor Snape will take every point Gryffindor has earned this year." The smile is sharp and thin now and Ron wants to scowl but it's so very terrifying that he just rushes into the room and halts in front of the massive mirror in the centre of the room.

Potter's dæmon is perched on the mirror – lightly fanning his wings. "What do you see?" he asks.

Ron looks. What else could he do?

**end.**


	16. Tahmryis

**AN: I'm not sure if anyone is getting alerts updates for this but, if you are and you haven't read the Ron chapter yet, then you'll want to go back. **

**AGAIN, I cannot stress this enough, if you get an email about this chapter but HAVEN'T read the Ron chapter, GO BACK ONE NOW AND READ IT. I've put this in all-caps in the hopes that it will make those of you who don't read ANs pay attention. **** (I'm guilty of it myself but if there's all-caps I usually at least glance at it)**

** As always, reviews are appreciated. **

* * *

**Tahmryis**

The female, Nanna, doesn't like him. He knows. He doesn't care though he thinks it is something he _should_ care about. Just like he's supposed to match his body to the boy even though the boy doesn't think it necessary or interesting in the slightest.

"Be what you like," Harry says softly whenever he asks for confirmation, "shall we find an encyclopaedia? There are so _many_ forms to pick from; it's alright if you can't think of one without help."

But Tahmryis always has a form in mind. He can feel every possibility flickering around in the Unsettled, insubstantial, shifting, writhing mess that is a dæmon's adolescent form and he picks from them the ones that capture his attention or strike him as particularly interesting.

But there's something wrong with his forms – he knows and so does the boy – which he cannot put a name to. The forms feel wrong and itchy and they have to be changed regularly or else he starts to feel Settled and that isn't right at _all_. They are too young to have a permanent form; Tahmryis still lingers in infinitesimal particles about the main body.

The boy is useful in choosing an option. He's also very good at piecing some breeds together to make them more interesting. Tahmryis can remember their first hybrid and it still makes his senses itch with the desire to change whenever he thinks on it.

The body – the boy, _Harry_ – had been at school. The other boy – the one the body was related to – had been taunting them. His dæmon had been a fierce brown bulldog and she'd growled at Tahmryis viciously.

"Why do you have to be such a freak?" she'd snarled at them (or had it been just Tahmryis?). "Why can't you pick a _normal_ body?"

"Normal is subjective," the boy had voiced their thought.

He could feel the sedentary of their most recent form (a cat of some kind, they hadn't really bothered in those days) and they were annoyed at the threat being displayed.

Tahmryis had turned to the boy, and Harry had smiled. It wasn't a visible smile – it wasn't even a smile Tahmryis could feel – but it was somehow there nonetheless.

So he'd changed. He'd become a massive tiger all pale white and cream and they'd stared down the stupid insignificant little _dog_ Buddy had decided to become and _snarled_. Then Harry had stepped up and touched him briefly and Tahmryis heard the murmured, "not quite" that made him tremble in delight at the possibility.

So he'd plucked a lion and parsed it to his body and they'd grown bigger than they'd ever been before.

Needless to say, the other boy had gone away rather quickly.

"A liger," Harry explained later, curled against Tahmryis' side in the public library with a massive encyclopaedia before them, "is a female tiger and a male lion's offspring. There's no growth inhibitor from the tiger like there should be from a female lion so the liger is usually _much_ larger."

"I like it," Tam had said and rumbled deeply so that the boy had laughed.

Thinking back, that was also the day Tahmryis had chosen his name.

"What do you see?" he asks again when Nanna's boy isn't speaking. Tam's boy is pulsing impatience at a low murmur and they flutter their wings in agitation. He considers briefly picking a new form for intimidation but he sees the way the blood hound's tail is drooping and knows that means his current form is intimidation enough. He flutters their wings again and remains pointedly silent.

"I see myself as Head Boy," and that is when they know that this boy is seeing precisely what he should and that Harry Potter saw precisely the thing he should have seen. "I'm also Quidditch Captain."

_"Boring_," Tahmryis mutters and flits over to the door and out into the corridor. "Plebeian!" he snaps at the boy.

"I see," Harry says and holds out his hands in a cupped position. Tahmryis settles there and trembles at the affirmation of their connection in the physical contact. The boy is not troubled, not precisely, but that feeling is there as well – muttering into the bond. "Thank you," he adds when the other boy and his dæmon emerges. "That was helpful."

"That's it?" Nanna barks incredulously.

"That is all," Harry replies easily with a vague tilt to his lips. "I won't mention anything about the assignment. See you in class!" then Tahmryis must flap rapidly after his boy lest the bond pull without their consent.

Tahmryis doesn't speak. He flutters absently and drifts in the myriad drafts of the castle halls while the boy thinks clearly enough that they needn't bother vocalizing.

Eventually, for lack of a better thing to say and because it needs to be said aloud, Tahmryis speaks. "Christmas is soon."

"Yes," Harry says and turns with a faint smile. "We'll see Buddy again if we go back. Solanis might be over Fang by now too."

"Hardly," he scoffs because it amuses them, "and Cora will still be in a fit."

Then, softly, Harry says, "We could stay here."

Tahmryis feels like he should tilt his head for this but instead he lands on the boy's shoulder and wiggles his antennae cautiously. They don't have an answer to that because – as cruel as their relatives are – the Dursleys are still interesting enough to observe. And _London_ is so full of life and dæmons and emissaries that it is hard to imagine remaining in dull isolated Scotland. The magic is new and delightful, yes, but it is not the _same_.

So Tahmryis considers the drifting particles of his changeable form and stretches through the possibilities. There are new ones now, and less of others, and he considers the ones that seem faint. Those are best suited to London and so he sighs softly. "London," he says firmly.

"If you're sure?" Harry lilts the phrase into a question and Tam manages to convey _displeasure _and _scowl _so that the boy laughs. "Alright. I've heard the Panserbjørne emissary attended the tree lighting ceremony and plans on staying until they take it down."

"The Latvian Witch Clan sent one of their own as well."

"They always do," Harry comments. "After the fiasco so many years ago with those Separation experiments on children and Ruta Skadi stepped down as Queen, they've always sent a representative to London near Christmastime. The current Queen believes in cooperating with humans."

"Sofija Vitols," Tahmryis remembers the name of the new emissary from the newspapers the Dursleys never read properly. "I don't know her dæmon or the Queen."

"He stays with the clan and relays messages from the Queen," Harry says logically. "Sofija is the Queen's granddaughter. She lost three daughters to Auschwitz, I think," he adds.

"Unfortunate."

"For the Nazis, yes," Harry's faint grin is horribly inappropriate (Tahmryis only knows because they've been stared at for doing such things before). "We learnt about her in history; she was one of the few Witches to get involved in the War without her Clan making any agreements to help."

"Delightful," he says to his boy. The boy hums a little and they move. It's easier for him to ride on the boy's chest in this form. The constant flitting tires his moth wings and there really isn't a point to displaying their reach when there is no one around to appreciate it.

The Head of House Slytherin frowns when Harry politely enters the office and announces his intention to return to Surrey for the holidays. The raven – Braith – tilts her head and caws in protest to their decision. She's silenced by her other half, of course, and Tahmryis flutters around the office deliberately to the point where she would have to return to her human. She recognizes the exact distance and he can feel her distaste and worry even though she doesn't radiate like an adolescent.

Harry's head tilts a little and Tahmryis lets the knowing filter through. The boy folds his hands demurely behind his back and rocks back on his heels just a touch as he glances at Braith while asking if they may leave.

He doesn't understand when the Professor continues to ask if they are returning for any particular reason. He's sorely tempted to become a wolf again but that form is muted in his repertoire and he doesn't want to waste it for every time they simply want to _leave_. He bleeds green in place of the black for the perfect skull marking and lets the rest of his white coloring turn silvery grey. He debates for a moment on whether or not he should add a snake to the marking but Harry sees the flicker in the Professor's eye that means that particular change in coloring would not be welcome.

He fans his wings out and holds very still instead until they are dismissed.

"A little overt," Harry comments in fond amusement.

"He was tedious."

"Still overt."

"Acromantula next, I think," he says in response and the boy rolls his eyes but doesn't say a word.

Tahmryis likes it this way the best.

**end.**


	17. McGonagall and The Genus Corvus

**AN: A few people commented on the incorrect breed of Norbert in the last chapter. I had completely missed that so thank you. I haven't editted it because I thought it worked better if I just made it into a purposeful thing at the beginning of this chapter. **

** Also, I'm a very lazy person. So, enjoy the chapter even if it is a bit short and rest assured that the next chapter is both longer and more fun. As always, reviews are appreciated. **

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**McGonagall**

"**_Norwegian_**_ Ridgeback, actually,_'" she whirls to Julius. "Can you believe the _nerve_ of that man?"

"It _was_ a Norwegian Ridgeback," her dæmon replies calmly and ignores the glare she sends his way. "Really, why you expected him to behave when you didn't inform him of Lily Potter's son, I'll never know."

"Dumbledore forbade him from seeing the boy, you know that."

"As his Head of House, I meant," Julius frowns at her and his tail lashes in annoyance. "The boy isn't _just_ a boy, you know. He's a student as well and one of Severus' Slytherins – _not_ ours."

She doesn't reply because she was wrong to jump to Harry Potter's isolation from the Wizarding World when they were talking about the incident at hand. Not everything Severus Snape does revolves around Lily. He's a good Head of House and he looks after his students. Harry Potter, regardless of the expectations she'd carried for so many years, is a Slytherin. Of course Severus would be angry that he wasn't informed. It was his _right_.

"He was supposed to be different," Julius murmurs gently. "But how could he be anything but who he is? He's a _boy_, Minerva, not a copy of his father with his mother's eyes. He was raised by those horrid muggles and had to fend for himself. Naturally, that would age him."

"Oh shush, Julius," she says and pets him gently when he climbs into her lap. "And it was perfectly acceptable that I didn't remember the breed of the bloody dragon."

"I know," he says and she gets the impression that he's smiling gently at her. "Your lion was out after curfew _and_ near a dangerous animal. You were worried."

"Of course I was."

"As well you should be," her dæmon agrees. "Though, perhaps next time we should worry about our Gryffindor first and leave the Potter bairn to Severus, yes?"

She laughs and covers her mouth with her hand. It is so rare that Julius slips from his correct English into their native Scottish accent that it surprises her. She had been more upset than she thought if he's slipping and she isn't.

"I should apologize," she admits after sitting and petting her dæmon for several minutes. "It wasn't at all professional of me to not fetch him immediately. I suppose I forget, sometimes, that he's quite as young as he is."

Julius purrs absently. "Too young to understand old minds and just old enough to be a stubborn mule about it."

Of course, Severus and Braith don't accept their apology. They brush them aside and excuse themselves to the dungeon to work on some potion or the other and Julius hisses after them because, really, they admitted they were wrong; the least they could do is accept.

Minerva isn't exactly surprised; corvus are notorious for being intelligent enough to recognize enemies and hold grudges. She's sure Severus will come around, however, because he prides himself on his logic and Braith's instinctive reaction will only carry their behaviour so far before he asks her for a game of chess (tantamount to a humble apology, from Severus Snape).

The remainder of her holidays goes off without a hitch. Or at least, almost without a hitch. The last day she finds Albus Dumbledore standing in her office looking at once grave and kindly. "Minerva," he greets and Malchior bobs his head to nudge Julius gently. "I'm afraid I must ask you to look after the school while I run a brief errand."

"An errand?"

"Yes," he bows his head and smiles gently and that more than anything tells her she should be wary. "It seems Mr. Potter has come into proximity to both a Mage and an Armoured Bear."

"That…Albus, I'm not certain it is any of our business what Mr. Potter does on his holidays at home," she ventures. Julius tucks his tail and stares at Malchior.

The gravity in his gaze makes the usual twinkle dim. "Mages do not get along well with wizards, as you know, and Mr. Potter has not – to my knowledge – encountered any before. His relatives are muggles and it is not likely that he is aware of the situation between our two peoples. I worry for Lily and James's son, Minerva."

He's right, of course, because it is usually just assumed that the children are aware of the situation. It isn't often that a muggle will meet a Mage as it is so only the Purebloods are even aware of the standing tradition of mutual separation. Harry has demonstrated an extraordinary ability to upset the usual order even if just amongst his social peers; Minerva does not even want to consider what he could get up to in an encounter with a Mage _and_ an Armoured Bear.

Still…

"Have you told Severus?" she asks.

"I wouldn't want to bother him," Albus dismisses.

"He's at a crucial step in a potion, if our judgement is correct," Malchior adds knowingly.

"You should tell him nevertheless," Julius purrs. His tail starts a slow twitch that means he is displeased with their concerns being brushed away as such.

Minerva isn't much more pleased than her dæmon. She frowns at the Headmaster and folds her arms. "He's still in a snit over our not immediately consulting him regarding the dragon incident and that was when his Slytherin was in actual physical danger of injury. Knowing Mr. Potter as I do, the situation now could be even worse."

"We will be fine," Albus says but he nods his head to indicate he has already thought of her concerns and made his decision. "I shall summon you _and_ Severus if I believe it necessary."

"Alright," she says and privately reminds herself to mention this to the Potions Master the moment she finds him and Albus is gone. Sometimes – not often, but sometimes nevertheless – Albus gets an idea in his head that is patently ridiculous in practice.

When Harry returns on the train that afternoon and she checks him off at the gate to Hogwarts, Tahmryis has taken the form of an albino crow. His eyes are pink and his feathers a dull sort of white and he croaks at her. Harry smiles politely but his eyes are hard and his posture stiff. She spies Albus striding away from the carriages and raises a single eyebrow.

Julius is more direct than she is and turns to the boy's dæmon. "Did the Headmaster meet with you?"

Tahmryis makes a low warble and clicks his beak loudly. "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has no business meddling in our affairs."

"Tam is correct," Harry says and his voice is easy and calm where his posture betrays him. "I want to speak to Professor Snape. I'm concerned at the interest the Headmaster of Hogwarts shows in my personal life outside of school."

She remembers that the corvus family contains crows and ravens alike and thinks of Severus still holed up in the dungeons. She remembers the dismissal in her office and Malchior's impatience. Tahmryis blinks at her and croaks again – turning his head to preen a wing.

"Of course you may," she says and Julius winds against her leg and purrs. "He should be in his office now."

"Thank you," Harry dips his head and disappears into the open Hall doors.

**end. **


	18. Sofija

**AN: I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Sofija is remarkably fascinating to write and the Panserbjørne are delightfully no-nonsense and straight-foward. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

**Reviews are always appreciated. **

* * *

**Sofija**

She knows immediately that there is a wizard in the group of school children clustered near the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. She's hovering deliberately on her branch of cloud pine above the Panserbjørne clustered off to the side. There are only five of them but they still make an impressive sight in their gleaming sky armour.

Wizards hum in her mind. She's particularly adept at sussing out Witches – it's her gift, if you want to call it that – and wizards hum just more than humans that she can effectively know where they are at any given moment if she bothers to try and sense them.

So when the hum intensifies and quiets in dips and turns she's curious enough that she drifts a little to find the elusive little one. Alistair is with the Queen now so she doesn't have him to go out for her but she suspects that his presence would only upset the crowds as it is so perhaps that's for the best.

She does eventually spot the wizard and when she does she realizes she's been a fool for not immediately finding him. His dæmon is practically – she means "in practice" not "nearly so" – screaming their difference to the world. She's a glossy albino spring hare perched on his shoulder but mostly clinging to his messy black hair. He turns his head and smiles at something one of his fellow children says and his dæmon shuffles with the motion so that she's forced to look in Sofija's direction.

That's when the dæmon thrums into her mind loudly and hops down from her spot. The children shift around the new presence but otherwise don't notice when she hops all the way through the crowd. The boy frowns eventually – far later than she expects – and slips away unnoticed to stand in a new section of the crowd loitering around watching the massive Christmas tree being disassembled. The spring hare hops closer and then shifts seamlessly into a Little Black Cormorant that perfectly matches her Alistair.

"Hello," says the male voice and the dæmon flaps up to perch at the end of her cloud pine – folding his head to preen one wing casually as though he is her own dæmon just come to rest.

"Hello," she replies with a smile she doesn't mean to let loose. "Awfully bold."

"I'm told," he says smugly. "You knew we're a wizard," he adds after a moment where he doesn't as much as glance in the direction of his human. She knows they aren't Separated but she's intrigued by the distance they're capable of; the boy hadn't been discomforted – merely aware of the distance.

"Of course."

"You're to return to the Queen soon," he observes. "You should visit Scotland before you return to London."

"Oh?"

"Yes." His head turns and the blue-green eyes are gleaming at her knowingly. It's identical to the way that Alistair looks at her and she's responding before she remembers that he _isn't_ her dæmon.

"And just why would I want to visit Scotland? There are _wizards_ there."

"There is a wizard in front of you," he fans his wings and peers at the cloud pine beneath his claws. "I have a request." And he outlines his favour for her succinctly and then finishes with, "please think on it. You know how to find us, I would assume."

"I do."

"Then I look forward to your reply." He bobs in a polite bow and then he's a spring hare again that hops back to the boy.

The boy smiles gently at his dæmon and holds out an arm that the spring hare clutches at to find his perch again. Emerald eyes sparkle in the fading light and he brushes a gloved hand down his dæmon's back. They whisper together and the boy wizard laughs at something before he slides out of the crowds and toward a very awkward looking family that stands not that far away.

They don't hum in her mind so she knows they're human and not magical. The littlest – by little she means "young" not "small" – clearly takes after the father although she suspects the squint to his eyes is the mother peeking through. The wizard doesn't say a word to his family, just stares at them from several paces away, and they ignore him in kind. The black vulture perched on the man's shoulder turns her head to glare though and Sofija fancies even a person without a bird-dæmon would know it to see.

The trouble with her ability is she's constantly aware of those invisible bonds between people and dæmon. It's a subtle thing – doesn't even register in her mind – but she is _aware_ of it all the same. So she can tell that the bond between them is strange and flickering and it doesn't seem suited to them at _all_ even as it seems absolutely _perfect_ the way it's supposed to feel.

The contradiction makes her wish absurdly for her own dæmon to be there even though their bond is stretched and separate and they no longer need one another to feel whole. The little wizard suddenly turns and stares at a secluded spot between two buildings and her mind screams _WIZARD_ at her.

The wizard appears in the ally dressed in a deep purple suit with silver pinstripes that he's obviously turned his robes into. He's got a brilliantly green and blue and gold-splashed bird-dæmon on his shoulder and the pair of them looks agitated.

Sofija sees the exact moment the boy makes the connection. His dæmon flickers – his fur takes on a yellowed tint as though he's about to become a normal colour – and then the boy turns and walks toward them with a purpose.

"Well-met," he says brightly to the Panserbjørne the moment he's close enough for them to hear. The unit are escorted by a human guide (and that is _all_ because a Panserbjørne – or a Witch, for that matter – doesn't need protection like a human diplomat would) who glares disapprovingly but doesn't intercede when the leader swings her massive head around to peer at him with squinted eyes.

"Well-met, little human," Kára Ioreksdatter replies in a low rumble. "Why do you approach?"

The boy glances at the human escort and smiles disarmingly so that the woman's lips twitch and she glances away. "Curiosity. You're named for a Valkyrie, did you know?"

The Panserbjørne snorts at him. "My father has a sense of humour," she says. "He likes humans."

"You do too," the boy says brightly – knowingly. "I'm Harry Potter. I know your name from the papers."

"I had guessed," the bear replies with an amused tone. "Interesting boy," she adds in a not-so-subtle aside to Sofija herself.

The Witch's lips twitch of their own accord. "Adorable," she says archly and hovers just a touch lower. "Your dæmon is very polite."

"He's not often," Harry says and his dæmon doesn't even react to the statement now that they're _together_ and observed. "Tahmryis detests associations with uninteresting people."

"Still there," his dæmon reports darkly from his perch on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm sure he'll leave soon," the boy replies in a firm tone. It's like he believes that he can will something to happen just because he says it. The old wizard is still standing off to the side and peering at them with a fixed expression. Polite interest. Sofija knows he's horrified. She would be too. "I would like to ask a question, if I may."

Kára rumbles and inhales noisily. "Don't dither; we know you're avoiding the old one."

Harry doesn't smile but he nods his head in the Panserbjørne's direction. "Our Headmaster is rather involved – we understand he knew our parents."

Kára doesn't ask if the past tense means dead or not. The armoured bear puts her snout nearly in the boy's hands and peers at him sternly. "Not going to take after him, are you?"

"No ma'am," he replies and rocks a little bit forward off his heels. "I've always loved to see the Panserbjørne." The pronunciation is perfect – exactly the bear's dialect as though he were one himself. The others in the unit glance over with bright eyes to see who it was that spoke.

"Oh, very good!" Kára rears up a little and then settles. Her armour makes the faintest of noises where the edges meet and touch. "Visit me again," she commands and then turns to the escort. "Personal guest, not official."

"The British Government will not attempt to mediate a personal visit," the escort recites as though from rote and glances at the boy again with a fond and amused grin. "Did you fancy becoming a diplomat, Mr. Potter?"

"Something of the sort, perhaps," he replies with a cheeky grin that reminds Sofija of her daughters so long gone.

Dragged from their homes in the dead of night, cloud pine snapped, husbands and children held at gunpoint until they submitted to the Nazis and went to Auschwitz. They'd wanted them to help in the depraved experiments. A proper Witch would never submit to such a thing but of course her daughters weren't like that. They'd been gentle – so very _passive_ – and they'd _loved_. Her poor daughters watched the families they'd built die before their eyes and didn't raise a finger to stop the Nazis even when they'd finally caught their dæmons and executed them.

Sofija had let her daughters go once and she'd lost them. She'd even left the Clan for their vengeance. She looked down at the little wizard boy and his politely unique dæmon and smiled fiercely. She supposed that, if she had done it once, she was perfectly capable of at least laying out the official agreement a second time.

To save the trouble of having to beg the Clan to return, of course. Not because the boy was at all delightfully entertaining.

**end. **


	19. Harry and The Panserbjørne

**AN: So I'm sort of in love with the show Grimm and I may be posting a one-shot I did for the kinkmeme within the hour. Maybe. I might also have a Harry Potter crossover (because it's an addiction, truly) in the works with that as well. Just maybe though. **

**By which, of course, I mean I definitely do. I was gonna save it for the kinkmeme in case someone requested it but I'm thinking it might need to go up regardless. **

**This chapter is dedicated to shameless slash-shipping of every television show I ever watch ever! Also, to my inescapable desire to cross everything with Harry Potter just to see what happens! **

* * *

**Harry**

The Mirror of Erised was not something Harry had enjoyed finding. Seeing their desires – he and Tam's, not one and the same – was unsettling. The images were vague and difficult to pick apart and it was so very _frustrating_ that they weren't the _same_ the way they should be. The way they had been when they were younger and Tam wasn't Tam.

"You're sure she was looking too?" he asks again even though he knows the answer. He'd felt the bitter boredom and heard it before but it doesn't matter. He _still_ hates it.

"Of course," Tahmryis has been a spring hare mostly this holiday. He fastidiously grooms his whiskers and ears and blinks up at Harry curiously. "Still thinking?"

"It's annoying," he tells his dæmon. "No one bothers to ask and I certainly won't tell them."

"People are stupid," Tahmryis says knowingly. In the privacy of their new bedroom, the dæmon doesn't mind speaking his mind. "Not telling doesn't help."

Harry rolls onto his stomach and pillows his head in his crossed arms. He feels the warm weight of his dæmon settle at the small of his back and exhales a little. Tahmryis stretches out the line of his spine and hums _amusement_ and _curiosity_ at him.

"It's not abuse – neglect at most," Harry finally voices. "Neglect and isolation and…it's dreadfully unfair, you know? We see it and no one wants to see it if it isn't _obvious_ and –" he breaks off because, really, there's nothing he can say that Tahmryis doesn't know.

"Is this about us?" the little hare murmurs gently. "Or is this about the inequality. The lack?"

"It isn't _just_ London," Harry grumbles. "It's everywhere. No one _sees_."

"Not us, but partially us," Tahmryis decides as though Harry hasn't spoken. He jostles him a little and the dæmon grouches but doesn't move – just digs his nails in a little in warning. "It never bothered you before."

"I never knew what it _was_ before," Harry corrects because Tam is missing the point. There are people and there are dæmons but they're all really just one person in two bodies. Everyone knows that but no one much acknowledges the dæmons even though that's one _half a person_ sitting _right there_. He hates that Tahmryis could go up to a human, announce they lived in the cupboard under the stairs, and get _laughed at_ of all things because he was a kitten or a bloodhound or something that _wasn't_ a wolf or some other stereotypical "abused dæmon" form.

He hates that the Dursleys outright neglect of his person hasn't been noticed by anyone else. He hates that his schools had never noticed the other children bullying him. He hates that the only way he had to find proper – actually _useful_ and _moral_ – role models is through books in the library.

Also, he still can't believe that the librarian never questioned a child wandering around outside of the children's section.

"My fault," Tahmryis admits reluctantly. "I spread out a little much; it unnerves most dæmons and they naturally encourage the human half to ignore the source."

"That," Harry says and twists around and waits for his dæmon to squirm back into place on his stomach now, "is exactly my point. Doesn't anyone _care_?"

"People are dull and stupid," Tahmryis repeats and twitches his nose. "There are scholars for that sort of thing."

"But no one at a plebeian level."

"No," Tahmryis concedes graciously. "Plebeian is a good word," he adds thoughtfully.

They're silent for a long while – wrapped in thoughts and feelings that drift across the bond between them like whispers on the wind. They listen to the bustle of the Dursleys below them in the house and they peer out the window. Hedwig sleeps in her cage, head tucked near her wing, and Harry thinks that perhaps they should let her out to hunt tonight since Tahmryis had eaten the remainder of her food the day before while Harry had been too busy pouring over old issues of non-wizarding news.

"London tomorrow," Harry says abruptly. "Vernon and Aunt Petunia agreed to take us first thing – they want to watch the tree taken down as it is."

"Wonderful," Tam trembles a little and his eyes are bright and sharp. "You're sure of the colour then?"

"Positive," Harry confirms. "You think this will work?"

"Wizards," Tamhryis says, "could be the exact thing the world needs to understand. If we weren't different…"

"Oh indeed," Harry says and smiles genially. "It should be fascinating, I think."

Vernon grudgingly bundles everyone, including Harry, into the car first thing in the morning to drive down to London. Cora perches awkwardly on the centre console while Solanis sits daintily on Petunia's lap. Buddy has decided to be a fat little chipmunk and she's squished between the door and Dudley's bulk.

Harry doesn't smile at his relatives. They'd rather not remember that he has his own reasons beyond leaving for school to be in London. His seemingly supernatural ability to know precisely a person's dæmon unnerves them even though it's just a result of spending far too much time reading taxidermy books and using he and Tam's greater-than-average range to observe people covertly.

When they arrive at the Square, Harry immediately integrates himself near a group of children his own age. His plain black pants and jumper and his long wool coat help him to blend in as a typical well-to-do child and he smiles and chats absently with them about this that and the other thing so that they'll ignore Tahmryis when the time is right. In the meantime, he takes the chance to covertly peer at the Envoy off to the side.

Sofija Vitols is a very pretty Witch, if Harry is to be the judge. She's got blonde hair and brown eyes and her clothes are pale blue and billowy with a sash of black-speckled white fur around her waist like a belt. She has three long black feathers in her hair and they twist and twine with the long fringe of hair she hasn't got pulled back tightly.

Kára Ioreksdatter is smaller than the average Panserbjørne. But what she lacks in size she makes up in presence and the sheer artistry inherent to her armour. It curls gently along her limbs and flexes seamlessly in a gleaming display of delicate links at her joints. He sees a vague engraving of a human woman bearing a shield along the golden-hued edge and smiles. So she _does_ know about the concession and hope imbedded in her name.

He is peripherally aware of Tam leaving and frowns a little when something clenches in his chest. He makes flimsy excuses to the other children who aren't bothered at the disappearance of their new 'friend' and wave goodbye cheerfully.

Then Tam comes slinking back through the crowd. Harry grins and holds out an arm, letting his dæmon scramble up to his shoulder. "Had fun?" he teases gently.

"You were right to pick the house with the bird," he announces and Harry laughs because it's patently ridiculous and yet a fortuitous choice nonetheless. "Stop bragging."

"I'm laughing," he replies with a grin. "Come on, we've still got to get to the station." But they don't go up to the Dursleys right away because Tam's head turns and stares. Harry keeps his gaze on the Dursleys but makes a soft questioning noise in his throat.

"Dumbledore." Then Harry turns and strides away toward the Witch and the bears and completely ignores the plaintive thrum that could only come from Malchior. "Well-met," he greets instead.

"Well-met, little human," the bear speaks and Harry has to remember throughout the next few minutes that he's the one having a conversation and not the one watching Dumbledore. The strange sensation of dual-knowledge is something he is well acquainted with and yet it unnerves him now – faced with a being who can clearly manage the exact observation they do but who doesn't have a dæmon of her own to help.

But this particular Panserbjørne is an emissary of her people and she is tactful enough to not mention that his mind is not fully on the conversation. Harry knows she's aware of his distraction even when she questions him about the Headmaster. The bears have always known of wizards – they are practical in the extreme and won't dismiss a faction of the population that could become potential enemies. Naturally, the wizards dislike them but that doesn't stop the Panserbjørne from being aware and being ready to do something.

He has to promise not to become like the Headmaster – a task Harry is pleased to agree with. After all, the Headmaster is a brilliant tactician but a horrible politician. Harry himself prefers to have something done right the first time and hates the way Albus Dumbledore dances around the issues and fixes the problems his ill-thought plans bring about. Especially as most of the problems Harry can find are ones that would easily have been nipped in the bud if anyone had bothered to _pay attention!_

"If that's all, I must excuse myself," he says finally and dips his head politely to all parties. They smile indulgently and Tam turns his head to nip at his ear.

The Headmaster is standing with his furious relatives. Harry doesn't smile anymore. There is nothing to smile about; not while Albus Dumbledore is standing with his dæmon beside _Harry's _family and waiting for _Harry_ like they've somehow done something wrong. It makes him wonder just how anyone lets the man get away with _anything_.

"A test, perhaps?" Tam suggests and it soothes their ire enough that Harry willingly allows the wizard to escort him personally to the train station and ensure he is safely within a compartment.

**end.**


	20. Draco and A Break in Character

**AN: Sorry for the wait, but I've been having some trouble lately with getting anything I write to a decent length. I have literally half a dozen chapters partially finished because I couldn't make any of them work the way I wanted. In the meantime, I'd posted at least two new fics I did for various kinkmeme fills. I'm considering putting up an HP/Grimm fic I've got squirreled away but only after I fix the awkward beginning and the constant repetition of certain descriptors. **

**Also, in case you were wondering, Svenia is a New Zealand Kaka by the end of the chapter. I didn't say it outright because I don't figure Draco would know and I operate under the assumption that the daemons themselves don't know the specific breed of their form - just that the form is something they are capable of; it's up to the child and/or their parents to determine the exact species. **

* * *

**Draco**

"Really?" He couldn't help it. Harry Potter smiles guilelessly up at him and his dæmon mutters something darkly before rolling over. "Do you have any idea what a ridiculous sight you two make?"

"Are you complaining about Tam's form?"

"I'm mentioning that it is a particularly repulsive shade of purple and blue."

In point of fact, Tahmryis is a purple and blue striped cat. He has a ridiculously wide mouth with far too many needle-point teeth, a squashed in nose, and a long fluffy tail that swishes idly even while he naps. When his eyes are open, they are a bright turquoise colour and take up far too much of his face. Harry says that they are reading Lewis Caroll – it is a muggle book, apparently.

"You hear that Tam?" Harry asks and he's still smiling at Draco.

"Brat has a _bird_," Tahmryis mumbles. It makes Draco flush because, honestly, what's it to them if Svenia wants to be a bird today?

"You look insane with him like that," he says instead in his most imperious tone. He has to get it right otherwise some upstart next year might depose of his position. It is a tenuous power he has right now – made more tenuous by his continued association with Harry Potter, the world's worst and best Slytherin.

He's the worst because his stupid dæmon is taking up the most ridiculous forms recently – blatantly strange and unnerving – and the best for the same reason. There isn't a single Slytherin who can guess what he's up to and they have certainly all _tried_.

"You're awfully hung up on that," Harry returns with an amused sort of quirk to his lips. "Perhaps I'm actually insane."

"You stood up to the Headmaster," Draco reminds him. The thunderous look on Severus' face – his godfather – had been a sight after Harry had strode into the common room after the feast and demanded to see him. They spoke quickly and Braith, usually composed, had made angry noises. He had not seen the rest, but word was that the Headmaster had made the trip down to the dungeons to speak with Severus while Harry had remained curled in a chair by the fireplace in the common room with Tahmryis perched on his knees.

"Is that what they're saying?" he says idly and his dæmon's tail swishes and looks oddly translucent in the firelight. "Do tell."

He folds his arms and stares and Harry flashes his teeth in a parody of a smile. They can't just share information freely like that; Potter needs to offer Draco something first. Everything else had just been known information presented in such a way to insight interest. It worked, clearly, and now Draco wants his part of the deal.

"The Headmaster felt that my actions over the holidays were unbefitting," he finally says and nothing more. The rest Draco can figure out; Harry Potter was not pleased. Moreover, what right did the Headmaster have to say what he could and could not do outside of school?

Svenia has been silent thus far and now she croons. Her pretty silvery feathers and long graceful neck are an odd colour variant of a swan today and he blames Tahmryis for it even if he does like the effect on her. "He tried to stop you? Physically?"

"Tried," there's that flash of teeth again, "but he didn't succeed."

"What were you trying to do?" Svenia says. Draco should not ask; it is rude and Potter is dangerously unpredictable. There is talk of a magic mirror from the Gryffindors and somehow he was involved. Whatever it was unsettled the lions and now they actively avoid him wherever they can. Svenia, on the other hand, is perfectly capable of swallowing their pride and approaching even if it goes against her every instinct to avoid conversing with other wizards.

Harry Potter doesn't respond. He blinks and shakes his head as though disappointed and Draco's cheeks flush a little. Of course he won't share – what self-respecting Slytherin would?

Svenia makes a low huffy noise. It comes out a bit like a hiss and sounds angry to most people but Potter just grins at her – he clearly knows exactly what she's feeling. It hits just a touch close to unnerving and Draco folds his hands into his pockets as casually as he can manage. "Perhaps you might benefit from a respected Pureblood in your court," he offers in his best just-making-a-suggestion voice (his father does it better but Draco has to practice it _somewhere_).

Tahmryis turns his head and flashes needle-teeth at him. It is a cruel and obscene smile on the cat's face and Draco very pointedly keeps looking at Harry Potter. Potter looks somewhat pleased with his response so he must have got something right. "I doubt your father would approve of some of the folk I associate with," he says and _that_ is a great deal of information indeed. Or it will be, if he continues – his father has a great many people he hates associating with.

"My father," he says slowly, "is not the one talking to you."

That makes the amusement turn into a sharp smile that perfectly matches his dæmon's. Even his teeth look whiter, brighter, and more vicious despite being perfectly normal and _human_. Draco does not shiver but Svenia's color ripples into something less silver and more a grey.

"That is true," Potter purrs – _purrs! – _and stands up. His dæmon climbs to his feet and yawns loudly. "I didn't stand up to him," he adds before he leaves.

"What?"

"The Headmaster spoke with the Professor," he says. "Nothing more and nothing less."

That does not explain anything and Draco begins to think that maybe Potter _is_ insane.

Svenia convinces him to go outside for a break and they settle in the snow beside the lake. He has gotten quite good at warming charms lately and so there's a little cloud of warmth surrounding them. Eventually she folds her long neck over and sighs at him.

"I envy Tahmryis," she says.

"What?" he gapes at her and she gives him the equivalent of a shrug. "Explain," he has to insist. Surely his dæmon does not _actually_ think that Potter's is in any way shape or form a good role model.

"Not like that," she scolds. "His creativity, I meant. He is free with his forms and… I miss it sometimes."

"There's nothing wrong with your forms," he mutters and strokes her side furtively. There's nothing wrong with _them_.

She sighs again. "They are proper forms for a Malfoy, yes, but they do not suit us."

"Of course they do, don't be stupid."

"They _don't_," she stresses and makes a low noise like a hiss. "They suit your father. I do not…" she honks rudely and then she's shifting into a bird unlike any he has seen her take before.

She's small – much smaller than he is used to seeing – and she has ruddy brown, grey, green plumage with splotches of reddish hue around her head and chest. Her beak is black and her face is a sort of pale whitish-grey. When she unfurls her wings to flap up to his shoulder, he sees that she's got bright scarlet and yellow feathers underneath.

"What are you doing?" he does not even want to imagine what his father will do if he sees Svenia behaving like this. Malfoys pick striking forms but – above all – _normal_ ones. This is a weird sort of parrot thing and he does _not_ see how this is better suited to them over her usual swans.

"I like it," she declares darkly and rustles her wings. "I will not change back," she adds warningly.

"You haven't Settled so do _not_ say things like that," he returns. He'd know if she had Settled. Everyone says that when it happens you just _know_ that your dæmon has found the perfect form. He sometimes gets a weird feeling with certain forms she's taken and he has to admit that this one is buzzing his senses a little but still… "What was wrong with the others?"

"They were not right." She blinks at him. "I'm closer right now than we have ever been. Please just…"

"Alright," he soothes. "Alright. You can stay like that but…just don't do anything crazy like Potter's dæmon."

"I wouldn't," she assures him and she sounds so grateful he feels awful that he'd been upset at all. She presses her face to his cheek and he sort of misses being able to hold her but this is nice too, he thinks, to have her weight reassuring and _there_ on his shoulder.

He almost forgives Potter for being such a freak.

**end.**


	21. Hermione and The Lies We Tell

**AN: I'm back from Seattle! Now I'm plus a long-distance relationship that's been in the works for months actually confirmed so that pretty much made my trip. This is a short chapter because I've been working on school related stuff and attempting to figure out how to pay off the remaining balance on my tuition which is the exact opposite of fun. **

**Reviews are appreciated, as always. **

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**Hermione**

Kavieke is running along after her as she darts through the corridors. He's still a red-ruffed lemur and he's been trying a few other forms but keeps returning to this one. It makes Harry smile every time he sees her and that scares her just a little bit.

Speaking of…

"Harry!"

He turns and smiles at her – folding his arms behind his back and rocking on his heels. "Hello, Hermione. May I help you?"

"Can I talk to you?" She can't believe she's doing this but she can't think of anything else to do. "Please," she adds belatedly.

"I was going to breakfast," he says with a smile and gestures behind her with one hand. She'd run all the way from Gryffindor tower to the corridor most of the Slytherins used to get to the Hall. Thankfully, she had caught him before he'd gone and sat with the rest of his House. She was brave enough to talk to him but she certainly wasn't brave enough to talk to him at his table.

"I'll only take a minute!" Kavieke pipes up.

"Nothing is just a minute with Hermione Granger," Harry replies and she blushes even though she'd usually take that as an insult. From Harry, it's both complimentary and disturbing but she'll take it as a compliment to save the trouble of working herself up.

"It's nothing, really," she assures him and begins to think maybe this isn't the best idea. Kavieke leaps onto her shoulder and she brushes hair out of her face. "Well, not _nothing_ but…"

She must've given something away in her tone because he stops abruptly and looks at her for a long moment. Those very green eyes are roving and his lips are relaxed in a blank expression that makes him look so much like a doll she wonders if he's breathing or not. Then he starts walking again as if nothing had happened and says, quite calmly, "_Ailurus fulgens_."

"What? Is that a spell?"

"No," he looks amused now which is better than the blank expression from before. "It's a breed."

"A breed of _what?_" Then, because he knew exactly what she wanted but she can't just _say_ it out loud quite yet, "Why are you telling me?"

"You want to know what we think Kavieke will be," he replies. Tahmryis leers at her dæmon and the lemur shows his teeth warningly. "The answer is _ailurus fulgens_."

"What is that colloquially?"

"Now _that_ would be overstepping social bounds," he says and Tahmryis winds his way through his boy's legs without causing a single misstep. "You'll figure it out."

She can't do much more than rush to the library – forgoing breakfast altogether. It's too interesting a challenge to ignore and exactly what she'd wanted to know besides. She ends up missing the fuss that happens after he leaves her and receives his mail that morning, but her morning is fruitful in ways more pertinent to her own life that she doesn't mind overmuch.

It takes her asking Madame Pince for help and consulting the horribly cramped writing of the index cards to find the book she needs. It makes Kavieke pace anxiously and grumble. "It was always obvious in primary," he complains once she's settled in at a desk with the massive muggle book of animals (slightly outdated) that's usually provided to every school.

"Witches and Wizards have a spell for when their dæmons Settle," she returns. "They don't really _need_ the book."

She doesn't like the idea of the spell any more than her dæmon does, naturally. There's something fascinating and wondrous about realizing your dæmon has Settled and going in to measure and catalogue all the characteristics to help narrow your search. The _search_ feels just as important as the Settling, to Hermione, and she doesn't think she'll go to Madame Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall until she's discovered herself if Kavieke has settled.

"_Fulgens_ is clearly Latin," she says, "'glowing', maybe?"

"I think it's 'shining'," Kavieke says and curls beside her to peer at the book. They'd memorized plenty of Latin words in preparation for spell pronunciation and sometimes knowing the translation meant it was easier to remember it for the actual spell. "What about _ailurus_?"

"I'd thought it might be 'gold' like from the periodic table," she says and immediately knows she has to be wrong. If _fulgens_ is 'shining', then _ailurus_ isn't going to be another adjective – it'll have to be a noun. A noun representing the animal's appearance, likely. "I wish we had a dictionary," she says suddenly.

"He said we were close," Kavieke sounds reasonable. "He also likes this colour. So we have approximate size and colour right there – the technical name, too. It shouldn't be too hard."

They find _Ailurus Fulgens_ (common name: Red Panda) after having gone through most of the _Musteloidea _superfamily for size comparisons. The pictures in the book don't move but she traces her fingers over the rounded face peering out at her from a black face-mask and can't help but smile. "This?"

"I've never seen one before," Kavieke says and peers at it. He sounds curious and the fur around his eyes darkens in a flicker before he pulls back to let her read the rest of the page. "That's what he thinks we'll be?"

"Apparently," she says. _Shining-cat… only extant species of the genus **Ailurus**… territorial and solitary_? "You should try it."

"What?" And now she has to tear herself away from the book because Kavieke is staring at her like she's gone insane and she can actually feel his anger thrumming hotly in her chest. "Just like that? Just _try_ what he says?"

"Well why not?" She has to stare at the way Kavieke is furious and glaring and refusing to come closer to at least look at the book a little. "Kav…"

"No!" he snaps. "I'm not doing it."

"Just once!"

He hisses and turns his back to her. She tries to reach out and touch him because it _hurts_ that he's so upset but he deliberately steps away and the pull is doubly painful when he's furious. She makes a small noise that startles her but he just sits there and refuses to look at her.

It isn't unusual for an argument to occur between human and dæmon. There's a sort of fundamental mentality that neither can shake; dæmons tend towards expressive emotions which would feel odd from a human. It isn't the first time they've quarrelled but it is the first time Kavieke has maintained a pull on their bond because of it. She shifts closer and he shifts away in turn.

She wants desperately to know if Harry Potter is right about them. She _hates_ not knowing something – especially something so easily discovered if Kavieke would just _change already_. But her dæmon means more to her than knowledge so she sucks in a breath and manages to get a hoarse sort of sentence out.

"You don't have to. We won't. I promise."

"Don't ask me to ever again," Kavieke says sharply and turns his head to look at her seriously. "Never, Hermione."

"I won't," she says even though it kills her to say the words. "I swear."

**end.**


	22. Fred

**AN: The twins! I hope we like the forms I picked: golden jackels. Why? Because they're unique but apparently enough alike that they got hunted in the same sort of way that foxes did which appeals to the british part of their character that screamed "We're crafty like foxes!" but also appealed to the whole "we're closely related to wolves and coyotes! Coyotes are THE original trickster!" so yeah. Golden Jackels. **

**Also, the twins are not in some weird twincestual relationship. They are literally soul-mates in the sense that they were born together and will die for one another and nothing is going to separate them so the whole daemon-touching thing is something of a moot point but serves to freak people out regardless. Not all twins are like this either, but I imagine that their case wouldn't exactly be unique.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated. **

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**Fred**

Aneris bounces up onto the table and sniffs at his food. "No bacon?"

"Not today," George replies from across the table. Eris has given up on stealing eggs from his plate and wanders over to Fred with pleading eyes.

He grins at his dæmon and reaches up to scratch the patch of white between her ears. Eris lest her tongue loll out and leans into the caress. Aneris shuffles out of the way when one of Eris' paws comes close to stepping on her tail. "Watch it!" she snaps and stretches out after pointedly twitching her tail away.

"Baby," Eris croons and touches her nose to the other's – politely ignoring the way Aneris veers her snout off to point at George's kippers expectantly.

George laughs and Fred kicks him but the glow of warmth was still there. Other students shuffle sideways with fond exasperation. They are all used to the seeming interchanging of dæmons between Fred and George Weasley (whom they can't really tell apart as it is). Younger students usually gasp and gape before it's explained but it's far enough into the year that most reactions are just brief glances.

"Finished that potions assignment yet?" George asks while reaching into his bag. Fred hands his work over without the actual question and accepts the transfiguration notes in return. "Stop doodling in my margins."

"Start blotting my essays and I'll think about it," he returns. Eris drops her head onto his shoulder in an awkward twist to see the parchment. Her nose wrinkles and she swats at his brother with her tail.

George reaches up and brushes her tail away and Fred shares a smile with his twin as he gently pats Aneris's flank. The swell of emotion is palpable but nothing they don't feel on a regular basis. There is no way to properly explain to others what it feels like knowing that, no matter who they meet in their lives, they've already found their soulmate. It sounds strange, they know, but they've been together since their mother's womb and so have their dæmons and it has become actually unthinkable to imagine life without the other.

Still, it's wise not to let on _too_ obviously that they don't mind touching each other's dæmons. It makes people uncomfortable in all sorts of ways and they enjoy tricks and pranks too much not to take advantage of the opportunities their identical dæmons and appearance provides.

Eris makes a low noise of delight – a sort of soft woof that might be a bark – and nudges his shoulder. "Look at the owls, quickly!" she instructs. "Do you see him?"

"See what?" He's turning even as he asks the question and peering into the incoming flood of owls. There's slightly more than normal because most students forget things over the holidays at home so it takes a minute to find what his dæmon excited about.

"There, the black bird there – it's not an owl or a crow or a raven," she steps messily on Aneris and yips. George's dæmon blinks up curiously and then springs to her feet to stare.

"Oh a _dæmon_," Aneris exclaims it quietly enough that no one else can hear her but it's loud enough that the Twins start and go wordless. "What's he _doing_?"

"He's looking for someone," Eris reports with ears pricked and eyes focussed unerringly. "I think…"

"That's _Potter_!" George hisses and grabs at Aneris' snout to stop her from finishing the sentence. Eris unsuccessfully tries to climb onto Fred's shoulders to follow the little bird's progress and he has to scramble to gather her into his lap while Lee Jordan to his side hastily evades coming into contact with someone else's dæmon.

"What's wrong with you two then?"

"Nothing!" George chirps with a wicked smile that usually convinces their friend to leave them alone lest he fall victim to their latest prank.

"Nothing at all," Fred adds with a smile that falls just short enough of cheerful that Lee narrows his eyes and follows the way Aneris is craning her neck unsubtly to see what the strange dæmon is doing talking with Harry Potter. "Pay us no attention, really."

"That isn't Potter's dæmon," Lee observes with a frown. "You recognize it Rán?"

Rán is a marine otter – smaller with a tougher fur than her sea or river counterparts – and her sleek brown head pops up as she gracefully drapes herself over her wizard to peer where indicated. She makes a point of keeping track of names and dæmons in case Lee forgets during his commentary so it isn't unusual for her to be asked such a question. She hums and blinks liquid black eyes at them curiously. "I've never seen that dæmon before. He's Settled, too, so it isn't one of the firsties. Aneris?"

"He's talking to Harry Potter," Eris informs her and her tongue thrusts in a slightly too-eager loll as she practically trembles with excitement. "It has to be, right?"

"Nothing else it could be," Aneris crows delightedly. "It's a _Mage's_ dæmon!"

The table goes abruptly silent as whispers ripple and fade. Everyone nearby has been listening, it seems, and now they all turn to Potter and his ridiculous purple and blue striped cat dæmon. The little black bird dæmon in front of him ruffles his wings in a dignified sort of manner. "I'm disappointed that Wizards are as rude as they say," he says primly in a loud voice that carries through the few conversations still murmuring. "Perhaps we should adjourn to a different setting, little Wizard?"

"If you may," Harry Potter says graciously. "Follow me?"

"If Tahmryis doesn't mind…" he says and turns his head to peer at the other. "Only I'm tired from the flight."

"Please," the cat says and flashes a needle-pointed grin that stretches his squashed face obscenely. "I am _happy_ to be of service." The bird settles atop the other dæmon's back – much to the horror of the surrounding students – and Harry doesn't so much as glance backwards as he exits the hall with his dæmon following closely behind with their guest.

The room explodes into excited conversations – the few professors actually in the hall and not preparing for morning lessons look at each other anxiously and McGonagall rises with dignity to fetch the Headmaster. Eris nudges Rán and Fred's already climbing to his feet even as Aneris crawls from beneath the table and George ducks under to scramble out with the help of an eager Lee Jordan.

"Has to pick a room with a window," Lee says. "Which classrooms are unlocked at this hour?"

"Second floor, maybe?" George says and holds the door open so that they can all get through before he lets it shut. "Eris?"

"I smell him over here," Aneris replies. "Aneris?"

Eris lets out a sort of yipping snarl – _okkay! _– and leaps up the stairs to follow the scent. "Yes," she agrees and the pair of them trail the scent to an old study room on the second floor with their human – Lee and Rán just behind.

The door is wide open and Harry Potter is staring at the Mage's dæmon with an expression bordering on _excited_ while his dæmon purrs loud enough to be heard even across the room. "We're in agreement then?"

"We would not trespass on wizard affairs, naturally, but we cannot see why a little help would not be approved," the little bird said agreeably. "I don't suppose you could send your owl to fetch it?"

"That won't be a problem," Potter says. "Will you need anything to drink or a rest before you leave?"

The bird's head turns. "Hardly. I've been doing this since before you were born."

"Of course, apologies."

"No offense taken," says the dæmon with a full body dip that looks something like a bow. "Farewell, little wizard."

"Goodbye, Alistair," Potter says and watches as the dæmon flings itself out the window and off into the sky. Then he's turning to face them at the door and the look on his face is something like a smile and something like wicked delight. "May I help you?"

They don't speak and step aside so he can pass. He grins at Eris and Aneris and Fred's pretty sure Potter can tell them apart now – though he can't tell _why_.

Which is to say he certainly would like to know, if Potter's willing to share.

**end. **


	23. Harry and Gold in the Nile

**AN: This was a chapter that gave me so much trouble. I must've started a half-dozen versions until I stumbled upon this train of thought and plot and it just _flowed._ I'm still with the Lewis Carol thing because it is so wonderfully entertaining and because I just organized my some 400+ books and found my copies of Adventures and Looking Glass, as well as several other books with his poetry. I re-read Alice so that's why I'm still on that and not the others. **

**Oh yes, I wanted to thank Saj te Gyuhyall for going through a few of my fics and reviewing all of them and especially for actually reading my ANs. I hadn't considered going all out and putting in the 'John' figure but now I'm thinking it's a wonderful idea. I'd always meant to do something with Ginny and Luna when they came about and now I may just take up your suggestion and consider them...**

**As per usual, reviews are welcome and encouraged. Enjoy! **

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**Harry**

He is in the Headmaster's office again; he's very sure that he has seen this room more than any other student. Even Fred and George are only sent to McGonagall's office. Severus Snape rests his hands along the back of Harry's chair while Braith makes a low noise of concern. Tahmryis purrs into the quiet and sits calmly on Harry's lap – tail swishing rhythmically.

"I have a problem," he offers finally and watches Albus Dumbledore frown at him reproachfully. "You _did_ say to tell you if I had one," he adds in his best but-you-said-so tone.

"Sneaky spirit," Tahmryis adds with a low rumble and demented grin.

Snape doesn't touch him but Harry can tell that the man would like very much to hold him in place and demand answers. Instead, Braith flaps to perch on the edge of the Headmaster's desk and stares directly into Harry's eyes. Tahmryis flickers _interest_ at being ignored by a dæmon and Harry puts a hand on his back to curl his fingers in the soft fur. They are used to dæmons repeated attempts at interaction and to see such a respect of their wishes is both new and _interesting_. Perhaps Braith and the Professor are worth the time to maintain at least the façade of a relationship with – especially if the House Elves are to be believed when they say that, once upon a time, Severus Snape was dear friends with Lily Evans.

"You're talking about Quirrell, aren't you?" she asks bluntly.

"_Professor_ Quirrell," Malchior corrects.

"_Quirrell_," Braith repeats waspishly. "Why do you have a problem with him?"

"His dæmon is a Slow Loris," Harry says and almost sighs at the blank looks. If they can't be bothered to figure it out, he certainly won't tell them. He'd sent Hedwig out just before Marcus Flint had found him and brought him to their Head of House – his solution will arrive quick enough and it _is_ the most effective way of dealing with the problem.

But then Braith quarks and says "_oh!_" in surprise. The feathers around her head stick up and she shakes herself out and rearranges the folds of her wings. "Nothing dangerous, I hope?"

"No," Harry smiles graciously at her and she bobs her head. No, Quirrell isn't dangerous and neither is his dæmon. The thing under his turban, on the other hand, is something Harry will be forced to deal with himself since the Headmaster seems so utterly blind to the obvious. "I made a new friend while on holidays and they agreed to do me a favour."

"Us a favour," Tahmryis corrects mildly.

"Of course," he agrees and strokes the long line of Tam's back. His dæmon sends _caution_ and purrs again. "We just wanted to see a Mage's dæmon; there is precious little about Separation in the library and we were…"

"_Curious_," the word is purred through bright needle-teeth and an obscenely wide and unnatural grin.

"Yes," he says cheerfully. "Curious."

Malchior makes an alarmed noise and the Headmaster feels like a point of black to their shared senses. Tam _stretches_ and murmurs "how doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail?"

He laughs. It is within their character, naturally, but unexpected nevertheless and it is the closest to amused he has come in a long time. Tahmryis twists to snap his teeth sharply and it makes Harry laugh even more. "And pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale!" he finishes and his mouth twists without his consent. Tahmryis shivers and gone is the form of a Cheshire cat and in its place is a perfectly golden crocodile.

He is approximately fifteen feet long, by Harry's estimate, and likely weighs somewhere around five-hundred pounds. He is of average physical build for a Nile Crocodile but that appears to be where the similarities end. His scales look metallic gold and shimmer in the light of the hearth and the lamps. There's a subtle shading of stripes which would usually be black but are instead a sort of burnished copper gleam. His eyes would be greenish or yellow naturally but they lack any normality at all – instead being completely uniform silver from rim to rim. He exhales from the floor and Harry is aware that his dæmon is watching for a reaction even if there is no pupil to be sure.

"Very flashy," he offers with the same twist of delight to his mouth he had been annoyed about before. "We'll have to show Draco – he will be terribly excited, I'm sure." Tahmryis snorts at the likelihood of _that_ but still places his snout on Harry's foot and closes his eyes.

The Headmaster clears his throat and he returns his attention to the man. "Your problem with Professor Quirrell? And this business with the Mage's dæmon and Separation."

"Professor Quirrell is not the man I would have chosen to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts," he says vaguely. "I simply wished to know a more detailed description of what Separation is and does and it seemed a Mage's dæmon would know the most on the subject. I am curious about why Wizards have such a small range," he adds.

"An admirable course of study," Dumbledore says and Malchior flicks his long tail. They won't press for more but they clearly know that Harry and Tahmryis are not telling the whole truth. "In the future, however, I would ask that you approve such visits with Professor Snape or myself first; Wizards do not usually associate with Mages and it causes undue ruckus amongst the other students."

"More so than usual," his Head of House drawls from behind him. Tahmryis parts his jaws to flash his teeth in what must be amusement. They've never been a large reptile before and Harry finds a certain novelty in learning expressions from a new form.

Professor Snape excuses them from classes for the rest of the day – his presence would only disturb the other students and it's best to let them the time to gossip it all out so that the relatively simple explanation makes the excitement fizzle out quickly.

They go to visit Hagrid for the first time since the unfortunate incident with the dragon hatchling. The massive Groundskeeper is delighted to see them and offers Tahmryis compliments on the unusual but beautiful colouring. Tahmryis preens and Harry finds himself relaxing despite his careful guard.

"Heard about your fuss this morning," Fang comments while his wizard makes them tea in cups large enough to be bowls for the young Slytherin. "A Mage's dæmon, eh?"

"Alistair," Tahmryis says.

"He's the Mage's muggle diplomat's dæmon," Harry confides. He doesn't worry that Fang or Hagrid will share that particular secret with Dumbledore (though he's certain the man knows or at least suspects that this visit is in relation to his meeting with Sophia – the question is whether or not he knows that Alistair is _Sophia's _and not a random Mage's). They seem the type to take any oddities with a grain of salt and will likely dismiss this conversation entirely when it is over.

Hagrid returns with the tea and Harry sips it politely even though it is over-steeped and too lemony by half. The rest he offers to Tahmryis who lets it splash down his throat and only hisses a little at the heat. If Fang knows they don't like the tea, he doesn't say a word, and presses his nose to Hagrid's hand in thanks when a cup is set before him as well.

"Now what are you wanting with the Mages? Right crazy lot, they are – Separating from their daemons and all that rubbish." The giant man blinks at them with a worried furrow to his brow.

"I find the subject of Separation fascinating," Harry says archly and carefully arranges his teacup back on its saucer in the precise middle. "The idea of being apart and yet _together_…it is an interesting dichotomy. Not," he adds when Fang rumbles, "that I am considering it – just the theory."

"Well, alright then," Hagrid says and his shoulders slump in obvious relief. "Was worried for a minute there: I don't like the idea of you two being apart like that."

Tahmryis hums and his claws dig gouges into the wooden floor of the hut. Harry touches his dæmon with a foot and he stops though the bond grumbles at him. "We wouldn't be able to at this point anyway; Tahmryis is not Settled."

"Fair 'nuff." Hagrid gets up to make more tea. It's steeped perfectly this time but still too lemony for Harry's tastes. He drinks it anyway and asks after Norbert the dragon and Hagrid is only too happy to share the letters and pictures from the Dragon Sanctuary. If Tahmryis pays any particular attention to the pictures and descriptions, well, it's difficult to tell when he has quicksilver for eyes.

**end. **


	24. Julius

**AN: This chapter did not want to be written. At all. It's basically all filler for important bits later but I felt it was necessary to get this particular viewpoint out before that all goes down. Sorry it's been so long. School and work and a tumblr addiction just don't make for very productive writing time.  
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**Standard disclaimers apply.  
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**Julius**

The crocodile glimmers in the torchlight. He tracks the slow blink and shutter of multiple eyelids and the low crooning noise throughout their lessons with the boy. The feel of Dust is thick and heavy in his mind and it lingers in the space between dæmon and boy. Tahmryis extends himself outside of his physical form and it lingers on him between forms and possibilities and his boy.

Harry doesn't seem aware of the Dust except for when he peers at Tahmryis and Julius can almost – _nearly_ but not _quite_ – make out the connection between them. He is aware they belong together the way all dæmons are aware but every so often Tahmryis is just –

He and Harry are –

_They_ are –

It is unsettling.

When his girl strokes him and makes a soft noise of discomfort that night, he twists to press his face to her throat.

"Minerva," he whines.

"What's wrong?" she asks and her fingers thread through his fur like a comb. There is less gloss to his coat in their age and his joints ache sometimes but he lets their bond soak into his skin and mind and he sighs.

"I believe Kavieke will Settle this year," he says instead.

"So soon?"

"He belongs to a muggleborn." It is not certain, of course, but the general trend among muggleborns is to Settle fairly early and Kavieke's girl is almost a year older than her peers as it is. "Harry Potter is encouraging it."

"I haven't seen Tahmryis even interact with her dæmon."

"Harry Potter is encouraging it," he repeats with a heavy emphasis. It rankles to observe the wizard-boy. He is a _dæmon_; he observes the dæmons and reports to Minerva just as she reports to him about the children. It is a collaborated effort.

But Harry Potter and Tahmryis are _resistant_ for all that they obey the rules.

"That bairn," she mutters darkly.

Julius purrs because she's usually very good about keeping the worst of their Scottish roots from showing and it amuses him that she's just as chuffed as he is. He ignores it when she tweaks one of his ears and she pretends that the tail he swishes at her face was an accident and not deliberate.

At breakfast the next morning, they spot Harry Potter and his dæmon sitting beside Draco Malfoy. The pair are given a fairly wide berth on either side and Svenia is still sporting the grey-green parrot form she's been using all week. Her boy doesn't look discomfited about that anymore and Svenia has her head turned to stare at Tahmryis.

It's an awkward thing for the dæmon to avoid contact with others with a form quite as large as his but Tahmryis exudes himself and the others avoid him. Julius is far enough away that he can't feel the difference anymore but he can see the dæmons shying away and pressing close to their humans. The fur on his back rises as if in sympathy and Minerva glances away from her conversation with Albus to fix him with a cautious look.

"Malchior," he says instead – ignoring his girl for now.

"Yes?" the other says politely and stops preening one wing to turn his head.

Minerva returns to her conversation but keeps a hand on his flank. Her fingers scratch absently and he purrs. "Have you talked to Tahmryis about his reason for that form?"

"Obvious, isn't it?" Malchior laments and dips his head in a gesture Julius has come to learn means he's annoyed or aggravated. "Slytherin through and through, of course, but so…loud."

"Minerva had to look the poem up," he agrees. "We think Kavieke is close to Settling if Harry Potter continues to meddle."

"Kavieke?" Malchior warbles and then clicks his beak. "Oh yes, he has Ms. Granger."

Julius doesn't nod but he does swish his tail and tilt his head in acknowledgement. Malchior is very good at remembering the Settled pairs but it is his ability to remember the younger years that consistently impresses Julius.

"You _have _talked to him, haven't you?" he asks again. It's one thing to understand independently what Tahmryis is doing and another thing entirely to have actually spoken to him.

"Albus spoke to the boy," Malchior says and his feathers rise a little and he preens them back into place as though he isn't nervous. Julius stares at him because the other dæmon might be impressive and untouchable most of the time but he's still a _bird_ and Julius is a _cat_ and he will have his answers one way or another.

"I didn't ask Albus."

"What do we know about Ballari?" Malchior asks instead of answering.

"She's a slow loris," Julius replies carefully. What in merlin's name does Malchior want to know about Quirinus' dæmon that he doesn't already know? "She hasn't spoken much since their sabbatical."

Malchior makes a discomfited sort of noise. "I see."

"You _see_ what?" Julius is patient. He is a cat. He is the _king_ of patience. But this is ridiculous.

"They were concerned that Ballari and her wizard were not the best choice for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Not the best choice, no, but the only applicants. Ballari had always complained that teaching Muggle Studies was a waste of their talent. Wizarding children only learn the most basic elements and any muggleborn would have the requisite knowledge for the class. Quirinus was far too talented to waste away teaching the difference between a torch and a lightbulb.

And they _had_ been the only applicants. Julius curls his tail around his paws and stars down at the students. "I see. Keep us informed."

"We will try," Malchior says and returns to preening his feathers.

Julius isn't really thinking about it when he checks in on the twins. Aneris and Eris are troublesome dæmons and they can't seem to help broadcasting when their partners are preparing trouble. He has to keep an eye on them so that Minerva isn't left reeling at something they've pulled – informing Molly Weasley is a last resort but her first instinct when she's startled by their pranks.

So he's watching them when the pair suddenly spring up in unison with their partners. The twins dart across the hall and their dæmons beat them to the Slytherin table – jumping up and upsetting platters to plant themselves in front of Harry Potter.

Potter's pulled his breakfast plate away and frowns slightly when his tea sloshes in the cup. One of the girls ducks her head and mumbles what must be an apology – ears pinned a little and eyes fixed on the boy's chin – as the twins plant themselves on the bench opposite.

"Minerva," he says and she replies "I see it."

Harry Potter looks amused when the twins begin to speak – ducking down to keep their conversation private. He listens for a while and then nods agreeably and opens his mouth to say something. The two jackal dæmons stare anxiously until their ears suddenly prick forward and tongues loll out of their mouths in canine grins. Tahmryis swishes his tail and then – without warning – he's a jackal perched with his hind legs on the bench and his front paws on the table proper.

Where the girls are reddish-grey, Tahmryis maintains his burnished-gold colouring from the crocodile form. His fur flashes metallic in the sunlight from the enchanted ceiling and his teeth are flashing white when he bares them. Even his eyes are the same uninterrupted silver.

It isn't until the three of them are leaving the hall that Julius even notices it.

Down the table – studiously ignoring Harry Potter and the Weasley twins blatantly _conspiring_ at breakfast – is Quirinus and Ballari. Ballari has wide round eyes trained on Malchior and there's something – something right _there_ that he can't quite.

Julius sits up and he can feel his fur beginning to stand on end.

Then Ballari blinks and turns her head to whisper into her partner's ear and the thing niggling at his gut vanishes. Minerva murmurs a question and he turns to her slowly.

"We'll have to be careful," he says and doesn't mention the slow loris when she mutters '_Weasleys'_ in an exasperated undertone.

**end**


End file.
